


Touch

by turbulenthandholding



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, HP: EWE, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Massage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, hansy advent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turbulenthandholding/pseuds/turbulenthandholding
Summary: A Hansy Advent Story. Not all of us handle the past the same way: some of us embrace it, reject it, grow with it, or relive it in recurring nightmares. Harry has saved the wizarding world before; now it's his turn to be saved. Rated M for substance abuse, PSTD, language and sexual situations in later chapters.





	1. Prologue

The sleigh bell above the cafe door jingled festively as Pansy swept in, bundled in a wool coat as black as the hair falling down her back, feet adorned in impractical stiletto boots. She looked professional and aloof and in sharp contrast to the greenery and tinsel draped throughout the shop.

 

Hermione slid out of the booth where she and Ron had been sitting near the window looking out over the decorations brightening Diagon Alley, and stood in her oversized pale grey jumper to extend her hand out to Pansy. “Thank you for meeting with us,” Hermione said with a smile that for all of its genuineness, did not reach her tired eyes. “We are so glad you agreed to come.”

 

“Parkinson,” Ron said, tipping his head in her direction. “Thank you.”

 

Pansy stripped the red and black plaid scarf from around her neck, and slipped open the silver buttons of her coat before sliding into the side of the booth opposite Ron and Hermione. The red of her lips stood out against pale skin flushed by the cold. Pansy raised a manicured hand to capture the waitress’s attention.

 

“I haven't said I would help you yet. Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Pansy said, absently, as she signaled more boldly in the server’s direction, until finally she caught the girl’s attention. “Service here sucks, as usual. Merlin forbid I get some tea,” she said before the waitress arrived.

 

When the server left, Pansy turned her attention towards her companions at the booth. Hermione’s white knuckles gripped the ceramic of her tea mug while Ron’s fingers folded and unfolded the corners of his napkin, crumbled scone remnants scattered before him. Nerves seemed to be getting the best of both of them. Even from a distance, Pansy had not seen the pair this subdued, or so close since their rather public breakup a year before. She raised an eyebrow at Hermione. “So?”

 

Hermione inhaled, stilling the movements of the white ceramic cup in her hands before casting the muffliato charm around them. “We’ll need you to agree to keep everything we discuss today completely confidential. Pansy, can we trust you to do that?”

 

“You know I'm bound by confidentiality oaths if you are seeking me out for my Healer qualifications,” Pansy paused, passing her eyes between them. “You are approaching me as a Healer...this isn't a misguided attempt at asking me to join you in bed, is it?”

 

Hermione's eyes grew wide as Ron coughed before sputtering, “No, no, absolutely not. Why would you? No.”

 

Pansy smirked. “Tsk, Granger. Does your boyfriend know what you're up to? Wearing Theo’s jumper while propositioning me with another man,” she said wryly. “So tell me, what has the Brightest Witch looking so much duller than usual?”

 

Hermione’s eyes fell again to her mug in hands ensconced in cashmere jumper sleeves too long for her arms, white knuckles still holding on as if the grip was keeping her from being dragged out into a current. Unable to summon the outrage she normally would have felt at Pansy’s barb, she began. “It's Harry.”

 

“Oh, I gathered as much. No one else would have both your knickers knotted in the same way,” Pansy asserted, before pausing while the server absently set her mug on the table. “Finally! This better not be cold,” she said, adding milk to the mug from the tiny pitcher. “What's he done now? Haven't seen him in the papers lately, not since he flounced from Aurors and kissed his girlfriend’s arse goodbye. Too bad, she has such a good arse too.”

 

“Don't talk about my sister like that,” Ron interrupted and Hermione spoke over them both.

 

“I wouldn't take the Prophet’s version of events as gospel, Pansy,” Hermione said, choosing to ignore Pansy’s opinions on Ginny’s arse.

 

“As what?” Pansy asked.

 

Hermione sighed, “Muggle religious thing, sorry.” Hermione renewed her grip on the mug in her hand. “The papers didn't have the whole story. It's all complicated. But Harry needs help, and you are our best hope for helping him.”

 

“How? I’m nothing special, Granger. Surely he'd be better off at St. Mungos or the French or American wizarding hospitals. What could I ever do that they can't?” 

 

“I've read your research on touch as a method of healing trauma. It's brilliant, really. Theo mentioned how successful your work with your patients has been, especially the main case study you've published about, and I'm so impressed. I know your methods would make an incredible difference for Harry.”

 

“But I tried to turn him over to the Dark Lord,” Pansy retorted, eyes on her own mug, glossy black fingernail flicking the chip in the handle. “That seems like a pretty severe conflict of interest.”

 

“The war is over,” Ron began before pausing. “It is over, but not for Harry.”

 

“Then, please, tell me how my presence could ever help him, if he's just going to expect me to turn him over to the enemy at any moment.”

 

“That's not what I…” Ron began. “It's complicated, like Mione said.”

 

“Harry is addicted to a potion he's been taking to help him deal with some lingering effects from the war. Horrific nightmares, in fact, and now he can't sleep without it and is taking such a high dose we’re terrified it will be lethal. Pansy, we’ve tried everything we can think of to help him...other potions, which aren't effective, hypnosis, muggle sleep aids. He refuses to get treatment at a facility, claims it's under control, but it's not. We know it's not.”

 

“Dreamless sleep?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hmmm...I see. That's entirely problematic. I still don't know what you think I can do to help. My research is focused in trauma recovery, not addiction.”

 

“But the root of Harry’s issues are his nightmares, which are the direct result of his war trauma.”

 

“True…” Pansy considered. “What, exactly, are you proposing?”

 

“A hundred thousand galleons,” Ron said.

 

“Excuse me?” Pansy’s eyes widened.

 

“A month of your time, in exchange for the galleons and housing, to treat Harry at his home.”

 

“And he's willing?” Pansy’s head cocked in consideration. 

 

“It's complicated now, but he will be willing. We’ll make sure of it before the month begins,” Hermione asserted, finally abandoning her mug on the table. “I've read your research, Pansy, and it's solid. Daily massage, particularly at nighttime, it will help him. I'm certain it will.”

 

“So...you're asking me to massage him to sleep every night? And what happens if he has a nightmare?” Pansy asked.

 

“That's why you'll be there, to help him back to sleep, hence the housing part of the offer. Do whatever you need to do in the daytime, we don't care. Just, please, Pansy. Say you'll be there during the night for him.” Hermione's arguments became pleas the longer she continued.

 

Pansy sighed dramatically. “A hundred thousand galleons?”

 

“Half up front, if you'd like,” Ron offered. “We know you're in high demand.”

 

“If I do it, and I'm not saying I will, I have a half crup. He’ll need to stay with me.”

 

“Whatever you need, Pansy,” Hermione encouraged, the light beginning to return to her brown eyes. “Plus, I've been reading about muggle therapy involving animals…”

 

“Oh, Axel’s too ridiculous to help anyone, and he'd be the first to admit it.”

 

“Your crup’s name is Axel?”

 

“It's as he was named by the breeder. Gregory bequeaths his animals with fitting names.”

 

“Goyle?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Interesting,” Ron said, as the group fell into silence.

 

“Pansy...please. Please say yes.” Hermione's low tones took on a prayer-like quality.

 

“I need some time,” 

 

“Certainly. We understand. Would it help to have my notes to review?”

 

“Yes, thank you,” Pansy said as she accepted the thick blue folder Hermione pulled from the bag beside her on the bench.

 

“When will you have an answer for us?” Hermione asked, and Pansy felt pinned down by the enormous weight of their expectations.

 

“Tomorrow. I'll owl you tomorrow.”


	2. December 1st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! This will be a Hansy Advent story, posted in short chapters daily from now until Christmas, full of recovery and growth and...sex scandals?!
> 
> Thank you to the loveliest alpha readers, Colubrina and Disillusionist9, for all of their assistance cheerleading this story into existence. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!

Late in the evening, Harry opened the door to find Pansy standing on Grimmauld’s doorstep, wrapped in her black coat and plaid scarf.

 

“No,” he said, as he attempted to push the door closed. 

 

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, appearing out of the darkness of the hallway behind him. “We talked about this,” she admonished, lightly with a sigh, as though she was scolding a misbehaving child.

 

“You didn't tell me SHE was the healer.”

 

“SHE has a name,” Pansy said as she pushed her way into the hallway. “And SHE has no patience for this shite,” she sneered. “Show me to my bedroom, and then we’ll get started.”

 

“Certainly, please, follow me,” Hermione led graciously. “I will get you situated.” Hermione looked back. “Where's your crup?” 

 

“I'll bring him over once I'm settled; he's bunking with Gregory until I'm ready for him,” she said as she followed Hermione two flights up the narrow staircase.

 

“Here's your room...we did what we could to make it more comfortable, but figured that it would probably be more conducive for you to be near Harry than in a larger room on a different floor.”

 

Pansy surveyed the room. It was clean, if dark and a bit shuttered. Heavy brocade curtains of an indeterminate color, maybe navy, maybe purple, surrounded the bed and cloaked the windows. The dark wood of the matching bedroom set gleamed in the dim lamp light, drawn out by the reflection in the oversized ornate mirror in the corner. 

 

“You do have your own bath,” Hermione said as she gestured to the door on the left. “And I enlarged the closet myself, so that should suit,” she said as she pointed to the right.

 

Hermione turned towards Pansy. “I know I keep saying it, but thank you for doing this. You don't know how much…”

 

“So you've said,” Pansy interrupted. “If you don't mind, I'll unpack,” she said, pulling a shrunken, stylish suitcase from her pocket. “Can you get him to his room? And you finished the warding, right?”

 

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “Just as we discussed, though you may have some issues bringing in some memory and pain potions too. I couldn't keep similar potions from being impacted by the warding. I added you to the wards as well.” 

 

Hermione had been working on adding complicated wards to Harry’s room, to the whole house, which would instantly shatter any bottles of dreamless sleep potion the moment they encountered the wards. It was a smart precaution, but Pansy knew it would only work if Harry decided to let it. And she would be there to help.

 

A short while later, Pansy had let herself into Harry’s room, placing a half dozen large apothecary style bottles on the table by his bed. She took in the room, the rumpled, unmade bed, the blanket-covered mirror shape in the corner, none of the curtains or heavy drapes that were in hers. Parchment and opened books littered the floor along with discarded muggle clothes. Faded posters were stuck to the walls with old sticking charms, featuring muggle motor bikes and scantily clad women with feathered hair. Pansy sighed; the room was not far off from her expectations. The vague tang of salt and sweat hung in the air.

 

Pansy started when Harry entered the room with a sharp, “I'm only going along with this for Hermione’s sake. I can't take her nagging. She doesn't understand I don't have a problem.”

 

“Of course you don't,” Pansy drawled. “Of course the Boy Who Lived is immune to the consequences of dreamless sleep addiction. You're so special.”

 

“That's not what I said, but I damn well don't have a problem.” Harry stood with his hands thrust on his hips, worn muggle jeans hanging low.

 

“Take off your shirt at least and lie down on your bed.”

 

“Trying to get me naked, Parkinson? Surprising for someone who tried to hand me off to my death at the hands of her Dark Lord. I thought I'd be beneath you.” Harry made no move to undress.

 

“Take off your shirt and lie down on your bed or I will fucking restrain you.” She paused before adding, “And gag you as well.”

 

“Harry, just do it!” Hermione yelled from outside the room. 

 

“Fine,” he snapped, pulling the threadbare shirt over his head before tossing it on the floor. He absently slipped the metal button through its hole on his greyed denim with a thumb, letting them fall to pool at his feet. Pansy tried to keep herself from eyeing his body with anything but the most clinical of glances as he dramatically threw himself on the rumpled scarlet sheets of his bed.

 

Pansy stepped closer to Harry, using her wand to dim the bedside lamp. “Maybe in time you'll be receptive enough for me to explain what I'm doing. But for now, just lay there and try to clear your head.” She looked down at his bare back, surveying the skin and ink before her.

 

“And do you want my first born as well?” Harry asked, twisting his neck to side-eye up at her.

 

“No, I want you to fucking shut up and lay there so I can massage you until you fall asleep,” Pansy said as she loosened her fists and rubbed her damp palms along the hem of her shirt, willing the unexpected nerves rising in her to dissipate.

 

“Kinky,” Harry replied, and Pansy couldn't help keep her annoyance from manifesting in a light smack to Harry's ink-stained right shoulder.

 

“Fucking arsehole.” But Harry finally stilled himself on the sheets, lulled by the warming and freshening charms she’d cast on his bed, and the low light of the room, as Pansy pulled the cork stopper out of the green glass bottle at his bedside. She dispensed the lotion to her palm and the scent of lavender filled his room.

 

“Like I said, kinky.”

 

“Not another word,” she said, as she began to run practiced fingers in sweeping motions down his back. “The scent is specially blended to help bring sleep, safely. And the touch as well.” She continued the massage. She had expected a veritable minefield of knots and tense muscles, but he was more tightly wound than even she had expected.

 

“You're safe, Harry. You're safe to sleep.”

 

And pulled by the combination of the scent and her touch, he eventually did.


	3. December 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a nightmare. Pansy and Hermione talk.

Shortly after midnight, after a few hours of surprisingly deep, still sleep, Harry awoke screaming. Pansy hadn't trusted that the first massage would be enough to soothe him into sleeping through the night and had opted to doze in the single floral wingback chair in the corner of Harry's room until he awoke.

When he did her eyes shuttered open at the utter agony of the moaning coming from his bed. The thrashing of his arms and legs, caught up in the blankets, started soon after, and Harry's moans became screams. The transition had taken less than a minute.

Pansy sprung from her chair and quickly cast a warming charm on Harry's mattress, then lit the lamp on the table beside his bed, using the wand that had been resting in her lap as she dozed. She began to shush Harry, as one soothes a crying baby, as she reached his bedside, magically flicking away the twisted blankets from his body.

Harry's thrashing only increased with the freedom of his limbs, so Pansy began talking to him as she attempted to roll him to his stomach.

"Harry, I'm here. You're not alone. Roll over now and I can help you," she crooned as she tried another way to shift him with her hands.

Harry thrashing continued but he opened his eyes to seethe at her. "GET. ME. MY. POTION. NOW," he yelled. "I. CANNOT. TAKE. THIS. GET. MY. POTION. NOW!"

"Shhh, Harry. I'm here and I can help you," she said, moving her hands firmly down his arms, even as they flung around. "Roll over and it will get better."

"NO, YOU FUCKING BITCH, MY POTION. I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE. I DON'T WANT THIS IN MY HEAD," Harry roared.

"No, Harry," Pansy said, as she grabbed her wand to turn him over using a spell Healers used to subdue unruly patients. She grabbed a jar from the bedside, a different one this time, and climbed onto Harry's bed, straddling him arse to arse. "Shhhh, it will be okay. I'm here, Harry. I've got you."

"Fuck you."

"Shhh," she soothed, as the weight of her pressed him into the mattress. Her hands working, kneading at his neck, then down his arms. His skin was smooth, though marred by war and Auroring in places by nicks and scars, and adorned by several tattoos which seemed muggle in origin to Pansy as the ink did not move across his skin.

"Just give me the damn potion. Or some fucking firewhiskey. Fucking hell. Please," he moaned.

"No. I'm here, Harry. You don't need it."

"I do, I really do," he moaned, but Pansy could tell the effects of her touch and the warming charms and the sound of the rain on the windows that had fortuitously started to fall, were getting to Harry.

"I don't want to sleep. I don't want this in my head. It's so real, so real…" he mumbled.

"Shhhh…" Pansy resumed shushing, and her inspection of his back, the drape of long, unruly black hair across his neck, and the contrast of black ink to skin, until she felt his muscles give way and his body relax back into sleep.

 

* * *

Harry was slightly more cooperative for Pansy the second night of her treatments, but still frequently barbed her with sarcastic or suggestive comments. After she assured herself he was settled into sleep, she joined Hermione at Grimmauld's worn kitchen table. Hermione sat straight backed, again drowning in what Pansy suspected was one of Theo's knit jumpers, midnight blue this time, primly reading from a thick book with pages Pansy judged as delicate from the gentle way Hermione turned them.

"You don't have to come every night, Granger. You are paying an obscene amount of money for me to handle this. So, I'm handling it." Pansy joined Hermione at the table.

"I know you are. I was impressed at how quickly the massage worked last night," Hermione said as she gave Pansy yet another appreciative look, her brown skin almost glowing in the low light of the lamp in the middle of the table.

"It didn't take long for the nightmares to return. But I handled them," Pansy told her.

"Thank you again, so much, for being here, doing this," Hermione said as she pushed back from the table to set the kettle to boil.

Pansy scoffed as she watched Hermione move around the kitchen. "Your excessive gratitude is exhausting. It's the second day. Hold your thanks until we've made actual progress."

Hermione made an annoyed, dismissive sound as she placed a heavy mug in front of Pansy. "I'll be grateful to you if I want, Pansy. And he's actually upstairs, sleeping, without potions, which is wonderful in itself. Peppermint tea okay?"

"It's fine," Pansy said, her eyes taking in the darkened kitchen, with its dark cabinets and rustic fixtures. "His sleep will last how long it lasts, Granger. I'm sure it won't be long until I'm calming down a thrashing, angry man."

Hermione rested her back against the counter, with arms crossed against her front. "I suspect the nightmares are so violent because they've been suppressed for so long. He just...hasn't ever dealt with the war, with everything that happened. And this world is doing a terrible job of letting him grow past it or forget. His brain is dealing with the trauma as it can, by interrupting his sleep, by my best guess." Her fingers trailed over the cables knit into her left sleeve.

"It's likely…" Pansy trailed off in thought. "Your notes mentioned that Harry had nightmares during and before the war, stemming from a connection he had with Voldemort. Is it possible he's got some kind of link to some other being? A curse, maybe?"

"No," Hermione began as the kettle whistled in the background. "No...those dreams were different. He would get glimpses of places or conversations or emotions, and his scar would hurt." She set the teapot in front of Pansy. "From when I've seen his nightmares recently, and from the little he's admitted, they aren't like that at all."

"Good to know," Pansy said, pouring tea into Hermione's cup, then her own. "How did you get him to agree to this?"

Hermione joined her again at the table. "It...it wasn't easy. Ron and I have been trying to make him agree to this for a long time. He's been using dreamless sleep since the war, in increasing amounts, and Ron and I noticed how much he's changed. How little he does, how much he sleeps. How withdrawn he's become, even from us."

Pansy studied Hermione, nearly unblinking, eyes dark in the lamplight, as she listened. The warm, minty tea wasn't enough to flush the cool worry settling further into her stomach with every detail Hermione shared.

"Ron's job with the Ministry has him so busy now," Hermione said as Pansy scoffed lightly at the mention of Ron. "But I think we knew, deep down, it was time. It was now or never. Now, or something irrevocable would happen."

"And he finally listened to you?" Pansy prompted.

"Well, no," Hermione said, threading a loose curl behind her ear. "Not exactly."

"What worked? Bribes? Threats? Promises of more fame and glory? Or did you finally nag his arse off?" Pansy speculated.

"Ha," Hermione replied. "No. I told him a secret." Hermione obscured her eyes by studying her cooling tea. "And we told him this was the only time we'd ever ask him to do anything like this, that this was the last time we'd try to make him stop him from taking whatever potions he wanted. If this didn't work, we'd leave him to live how he wanted to."

Pansy's stomach churned. "And you meant it?"

Hermione looked up at Pansy. "I don't know," she said, and sighed. "At this point, I don't care, because it worked. And he already seems..."

Pansy met Hermione's gaze. "We'll see. But I'm here. And I'll do what I can."

The quiet from the rest of the house seeped into the kitchen, both women falling into their own thoughts. Pansy refilled her tea, and then pushed herself back from the table. "I'm going to take this upstairs, get some rest while I can. See you later, Granger."

"Thank you, Pansy," Hermione said with a sleepy grin.

"Gah," Pansy returned as she walked out the swinging kitchen door. "Go home to Theo, you frustrating bint," she said loudly as she headed for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!


	4. December 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy has a moment to herself and Axel the half-crup comes to Grimmauld Place.

Pansy awoke in her wingback chair in Harry’s room to find the sun breaking through the gaps in the curtains and his bed empty.  She sighed, though she wasn't sure why, and kicked her way through the detritus on his floor out into the hallway, and back into her temporary room.  She pressed the door closed behind her, glass knob slippery under her fingers.  

 

Pansy rested her head back against the door and exhaled.  Another night spent in a chair that could be generously described as vaguely comfortable for sitting, with three nightmares and four massages.  

 

Pansy wasn't entirely sure why she'd taken the job, why she was giving up a month of her life to Harry Potter, who didn't seem to want her help but who obviously needed it, at the behest of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.

 

_ Well,  _ she thought, as she smirked and pulled the soft grey jersey of her shirt over her head.   _ A hundred thousand galleons is a good enough reason. _  Not that she really needed the money, with a number of the Parkinson family vaults already in her name.  But the money would be the seed fund she needed to start the trauma recovery facility she had been planning for years.  The thought nagged:  _ that's not entirely the reason you've agreed to this.   _ Pansy finished undressing, piling her clothes on the bed she'd yet to sleep in, and headed towards her bathroom.

 

She considered, as she sunk into the near scalding water in the clawfoot tub a few moments later, that it had been Draco, and Draco’s anguish after the war, that led her to healing, to her research on trauma.  From what Pansy understood, the muggle world was more advanced on mind healing, but not by much.  She'd learned what she could and applied it to what she'd discovered by simply being Draco’s friend, supporting and comforting him as he fought the demons the war, and having Voldemort live in his house, had left with him.

 

Helping Draco, fixing him, had been a labor of deep love.  He was the closest she'd had to a brother her entire life, but her impetus for helping him felt much different than the ghosts of obligation, of penance, of reparation, of fascination pushing her towards Harry Potter.  Towards Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley and memories of a childhood intertwined with darkness she longed to leave behind her.  The steam rising from the bath clouded the room and Pansy inspected the drops of water beading on her hands, against glossy nails. 

 

The ends of Pansy’s raven hair floated around her pale shoulders in the bath, and as the steam dissipated and the water cooled and her fingers shriveled, she considered another raven head, whose screams and pleas were beginning to brand themselves in hers, like the phoenix that stared out from its perch, frozen on Harry’s back.

* * *

Pansy apparated from the front steps of Grimmauld Place to retrieve Axel the half-crup from Gregory’s farm.  Pansy supposed they'd all found their own ways of dealing with the trauma of war.  Hers had been helping Draco recover.  Gregory’s had been largely retreating from wizarding society to cross breed crups with muggle dogs.  Pansy had wanted no part of it, until Axel found and followed her during a visit to Gregory’s farm.  Axel came from a litter whose parents had been a crup and a Welsh Corgi, and his short legs and endearing persistence had quickly won her over.

 

Axel bounded over to her, partially obscured by the ankle-length grass, when she appeared just outside Gregory’s fence, as if he'd known she was coming for him.  Greg followed close behind.  “Felt you through the wards,” he told her.  “Good to see you.”

 

“He hasn't been too much trouble, has he?” Pansy asked, leaving over to run her fingers around Axel’s standing ears, in the spot she knew he loved.

 

“Never.  He kept the pups in line.  The herding instinct is strong in him,” Gregory said, turning back where a bizarre looking gaggle of puppies headed towards them.  “Muggle Saint Bernards crossed with crups.  Wicked size differences in this litter,” he told her, as he looked back at the ragtag puppies.

 

“They are...unique looking.  Found homes for any yet?” Pansy asked.

 

“What, you looking for another?” Greg asked, boot resting on the fence.

 

“Merlin, no.  Axel’s plenty, especially with this new patient I've taken on.  Speaking of, we should floo back.  I've got some other errands to finish before my next session,” Pansy said as she threaded her arm through Gregory’s, with Axel bounding along aside them.  “Sorry I can't stay longer.”

 

They walked through the grassy open space toward Greg’s cottage, Pansy’s heels sinking into the soft spots of the ground.  “No worries, love.  I'll see you at Draco’s Yule party, if not sooner.”

 

“You're a dear, Gregory Goyle.”  And he lead Pansy and her half-crup into his stone house to floo back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

That night, Hermione stayed home and Harry didn't argue with Pansy.  He didn't say anything to her as she massaged him, either; instead he threaded the fingers of his left hand into Axel’s sandy fur after Axel installed himself at Harry’s side, nudging Harry with his nose when Harry’s fingers drifted too lazily through Axel’s tufts.

 

Axel stayed at Harry’s side all night, whimpering to wake Pansy at the first thrash of Harry’s body.

 

“What a good boy you are,” Pansy cooed at Axel, who sleepily preened at her praise from his splayed position on his back next to Harry’s thigh, once they'd settled Harry back to sleep.  “So pretty, and such a smart boy,” she told him as she dragged her nails along Axel’s long belly.

 

A sleepy voice came from the head of the bed.  “I'm so glad you think so.”

 

Pansy started, quickly pulling her hand back from Axel’s belly, but Harry didn't seem to notice as the heavy, even breathing that followed told her he'd drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing! <3


	5. December 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which days, familiars, and tattoos are discussed.

“So what did you do today?” Pansy asked as she worked her fingers through the tangles of knots in Harry’s neck muscles.  She was trying a new method of massage this evening, and a longer treatment, and had him lying on his back with his head towards the edge of the bed.

 

She looked down at Harry’s face, with his famous green eyes obscured behind closed lids.  Tension still distorted the angles of his face and Pansy was surprised by how deeply it bothered her.

 

“Why do you care?” Harry questioned, eyes still pressed shut.

 

“Talking can help,” Pansy replied simply.  “Or I can start telling you about my day, the elderly wizard I treat on Sunday afternoons.  I can't tell you specifics, obviously, but I can tell you I have to help him heal his boils before we get onto the therapeutic massage.  And he’s hairy!  So much hair growing out of moles I have to magically vanish…”

 

“Stop!  Stop and I'll tell you,” Harry opened his eyes to look upside down at Pansy. The movement and angle somehow sharpened his cheekbones, which made Pansy’s stomach clench.  “You didn't need to get gross about it.”

 

She smirked.  “Ah, but the technique works.  So tell me.”

 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes again.  “This feels good,” he commented on how she had loosened the knots in his neck.  “I went for a walk,” he said.

 

“Hmm...to anywhere interesting?”

 

“Not really.  Mostly in muggle London.”

 

“Makes sense.  Is that what you do most days?”

 

“Depends, but yeah.”

 

“Granger says you don't see her and Weasley and your other friends as much as you used to.”

 

“I guess,” he said.  “They've got their own stuff and I don't want to think about how it used to…” he trailed off.  “Can we talk about something else?” he said, shifting around in his bed, distractedly, restlessly.

 

“Sure.  Why don't you tell me about your tattoos?  I'm curious after looking at them for a few days now.  Are they muggle?”

 

“Some,” was Harry’s sparse reply.

 

“Tell me about the ones on your forearm,” Pansy requested, circling her thumbs on his neck.  

 

“Patronuses,” Harry said.  

 

“Your parents’?” Pansy guessed.

 

“Yeah.  Remus’ and Tonks’ too.”  Harry closed his eyes again.

 

“Professor Lupin?”

 

“Yeah, and his wife.”

 

“Do the tattoos move?”

 

“No.  They’re muggle tattoos.”  Harry said.  “I needed to feel them.”

 

“What about the ones down your chest?”  Pansy asked, brushing her fingers over the top rune-like shape of the line of them leading from the top of his chest, between his ribs, down through his navel.  

 

“Sirius had the same ones,” Harry offered.

 

“Black, right?  This was his house.”

 

“And I'm his godson.”

 

“Draco may have mentioned it.” Pansy said, shifting her fingers to softly rub Harry’s temples.  “What about the phoenix?  Is it a muggle tattoo too?”  Pansy asked, pausing the massage to reach for another blob of lotion - this time jasmine - from one of her many jars at his bedside.

 

“Magical,” Harry said, as Pansy’s hands returned to his neck.

 

“But it doesn't move,” Pansy noted, as she felt a muscle on the right side of his neck give way to the pressure of her fingers.  He groaned, quietly.

 

“I know,” he said, inhaling at the change in the muscle in his neck.  His eyes flickered as he heard the distinctive clop of Axel’s nails on the wood floor, followed by the whoosh of him jumping onto Harry’s bed.  Axel circled twice before settling into Harry’s leg.

 

“He's not the type of familiar I would've pictured you with...I would've expected a yapping crup you'd carry in a prissy bag with a fucking bow on its head.”

 

“Ha,” Pansy replied.  “Hardly.”  She paused to shift to work on Harry’s arms.  “We saw each other and knew we were family.”  She frowned as she extended his forearm up, placing his hand in hers to work on the muscles in his hand.  “He's not usually this docile. Or clingy.  Actually, I'd expected him to be carrying on lengthy barked conversations with your portraits while attempting to climb your walls, or ripping up your garden.”

 

Pansy recognized in the muscles of Harry’s face that he almost smiled.

 

“So…” Harry began, the corner of his mouth continuing its shift upward.  “Do you have any tattoos, Healer Parkinson?  Malfoy’s name on your heart?  A snake in Slytherin colors hissing on your upper thigh?  The Parkinson's crest on your lower back?  Snape on your arse?”

 

Pansy laughed in spite of herself.  “I don't discuss such things with patients,” she said haughtily but with eyes glittering in the low light of his room.

 

“Doesn't count, you're practically in my bed.  It’s Snape, isn't it?” Harry laughed.  

 

“Turn over onto your stomach, you.  And be quiet.  Relax,” she prompted, using her most professional voice.  “I suppose if thinking about Snape helps you get there…”

 

As Harry rolled over, all levity left him and he stared out at the piles on his floor with darkened eyes.  “No.  No, it really doesn't.”  And Pansy felt him shutter himself as he closed his eyes and let her soothe him to sleep.

 

Pansy realized something hours later in the weak early morning light, as she left Axel snoring next to Harry.  Harry had awoken screaming, and she’d soothed him back to sleep under the watchful eye of Axel, as she had been doing all week.  But this time, in the midst of his nightmares, it was her name that had fallen from Harry’s lips as he cried for help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's snowing! And my Christmas trees are up. Thank you so much for reading and following and reviewing this little Advent story.


	6. December 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy walks Axel and Harry comes home late.

Pansy stood in the moonlight in the back garden at Grimmauld Place, waiting impatiently for Axel to relieve himself.  It was late, much later in the evening than Harry had come home the previous four days, and Pansy was worried and annoyed and frustrated that he’d yet to turn up for his nightly treatment.  It wasn’t like she had anything else to do except for watch her half-crup smell the same spots he’d already smelled at least four times already that day, and maybe updating some case files, but that didn't stop her from grousing internally over Harry’s rudeness and lack of courtesy.

 

In her annoyance, she hadn’t bothered with a coat or her wand to cast a warming charm.  She was cold, and the chill of worry wasn’t helping.  As Axel stretched and kicked and slowly meandered towards the house, Pansy could feel the shift in the wards.

 

“Come on, pup, Harry’s back now.  Time to go rub your cold nose on him,” and at the mention of Harry’s name, Axel ran past Pansy up the back stairs to wag his rear at the door in vigorous anticipation of attention from his newest friend. “Traitor,” Pansy breathed, and twisted the handle open to let the crup inside.

 

Axel was already a flight ahead of her when Pansy reached the stairs, and at his panicked barking and yelping seconds later, she began taking them two at a time.  At the second landing, she could see feet protruding from Harry’s room out into the hallway, and there was no keeping the scream Pansy emitted from echoing through the darkened hallways and unoccupied rooms.

 

Pansy was at Harry’s side in a moment, relieved she had left her wand in his room where she'd been preparing for his evening treatment when Axel had demanded to be let outside.  She began talking to Harry, babbling at him, hoping he could hear her, that she could make him stir.  She swiftly cast a number of charms to measure Harry’s vitals while absently pushing away the clothes and papers lying near him to give her space to work.

 

Pansy's hand moved involuntarily to her chest at the relief of seeing his vitals were more or less within the normal ranges.  She persisted in shaking him, moving his limbs, screeching into his ears, but he slept on, and Pansy  _ knew.   _ A quick tug of his jaw downward to force open his mouth  and she could smell the tang of the potion.  Dreamless sleep, again.  Damn, fucking Harry Potter.  Fuck him, and his fucking precious addiction.

 

Pansy stood and walked away from him to stare him down from the wingback chair she'd claimed.  She was tempted to leave him to sleep the night on his messy floor and all of the resentment and anger she'd ever felt towards him, in their years of school and through the war, whispered enticingly that she should leave him, walk away to damn him to any consequences of his rash actions.  

 

_ He did this to himself,  _ the voice said.   _ And he doesn't care for all of your efforts to help him clean up his mess, his entitled, selfish mess. _

 

“No,” Pansy said aloud to herself.  “No.  Something could still happen.”  And she stood to levitate him into his bed, not bothering with the usual warming charms as the dreamless sleep would do the work for her tonight.

 

Pansy returned to the faded floral chair and sat in the dim lamplight to stare at the eerily small movements of the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.  The logical part of her mind assessed the risk of the situation, and she recast the monitoring charms to alert her if anything in Harry’s condition or vitals changed.  She suspected he'd taken the potion just outside of the house’s wards as he'd managed to get most of the way to his bed before falling to his bedroom floor, asleep.  He must have picked up on Hermione's wards keeping potions out of Grimmauld Place...or, she thought more cynically, more realistically, that he'd likely been trying to bring the potion in all week but had only managed to work around the wards tonight.

 

Damn him.

 

The healer in her knew that this was expected behaviour.  Well, maybe not exactly expected, but entirely possible behaviour in this situation.  Harry was addicted to a potion and even though he may have been trying to let her help him recover, and as much as her treatments had been helping him sleep more than he would've without them, he still craved the lack of existence dreamless sleep provided.

 

Pansy hated it.  She hated so much the feelings Harry’s relapse had awoken in her, beyond the logical response of a healer.   _ Resentment _ stewed within her.   _ Betrayal _ twined itself with her muscles and pinned her to the uncomfortable chair.  The weight of the restitution she had been trying to make crushed itself on Pansy’s shoulders, ingrained itself into her neck.  

 

And how could she have ever thought she could make up for the past and right her wrongs by trying to help someone who didn't want to be helped?

 

But the worst feeling was the fear, the drop of the gut she'd felt when she had first seen his feet in the hallway.  It blossomed and took root, fed by the fascination and interest and intrigue she felt when she caught the gold flecks in his eyes or the twist of his lips or the way he always smelled of himself, even under all of the scents of her various massage lotions during his treatments.

 

Dark eyes steady ahead of her, Pansy pulled her legs up and folded them on the chair as she settled down to wait, to suppress, to seethe, to will, to watch.

  
Only one of them would sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thanks and love to Colubrina, who knew just what needed to happen. And endless thanks to each and every one of you for reading and for sharing your thoughts with me!


	7. December 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout.

“Sleep well?” Pansy drawled from the chair in the corner of Harry’s room where she'd been watching him sleep all night, when his eyes opened late the next morning.  He rolled to his side and eyed her, still bleary from sleep.  She stood.  “I bet you slept so soundly, just like a baby.  Did it feel good?” she asked as she approached his bed.  “Was it worth it?” she hissed.

 

Harry pulled himself up to sitting, looking down to see that he was still wearing the previous day’s clothes.  “Watch me all night, did you?” he snapped back.  “That's not messed up at all,” he said as she stepped closer yet and drew her finger like a weapon.

 

Pansy punctuated her words with jabs of her nail between the columns of knit stitches forming Harry’s jumper.  “Forgive me for keeping an eye on you in case you had a seizure,” she poked.  “Or stopped breathing,” poked again.  “Or, Merlin forbid, died, you selfish fucker.”  And she poked.  “I have half a mind to walk away from this right now.  You obviously don't give a flying fuck about anyone else.  You have worked so hard to shut yourself off from everyone else you have no idea how fucking selfish you are, how much you are hurting the fucking people who care about you!”

 

“So?  It's not like you do.”  Harry hissed back at her, swiping away the finger still pressing into his shoulder.  “Careful, sweetheart, I wouldn't want you to break a nail.”

 

“Fuck you,” Pansy spewed at him, throwing her arms up.  “I am fucking doing my job.  Or at least I am fucking trying to, you arsehole.  I am trying to make everything better for you because I need to, I fucking need to fix you and you aren't even trying.”

 

“Who said you needed to fix me, anyway?  I didn't ask you for your help.  I didn't want this.”  Harry stood up and pushed past Pansy, heading towards his en suite bathroom.  He pulled his jumper over his head and dropped it on the floor without looking at her, before walking into the bathroom.  He didn't close the door behind him.

 

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Pansy yelled.

 

“For everyone to leave me the fuck alone,” he yelled back, before wandlessly starting the shower.  

 

Pansy moved to the bathroom doorway.  “No.”

 

“Well then why the fuck would you even ask if you won't fucking listen to my answer?” Harry asked, as he shifted the jeans and pants down his hips, meeting Pansy’s narrowed midnight eyes in the mirror.  Pansy didn't know if it was a dare or an escalation, or if he was proving how irrelevant her presence was to him.

 

“Because you don't know what's best for you right now, Harry,” she said, fisting a hand on her left hip, as he walked naked to the shower.  She tried not to notice the colorful ink on his hip, on his arse, or the grace with which he strode past her.

 

“And you do,” he said from inside the steamy enclosure.  Pansy could only see the shadows of his body behind the fogged glass.

 

“I am your fucking healer!” Pansy shouted over the sound of the falling water.  “Of course I do!”

 

“Just like you did when you tried to turn me over to Voldemort, right.” Harry replied and Pansy chilled in spite of the warm steam surrounding her.  

 

“Fuck you,” Pansy screamed.  “Fuck you, Harry!  We are not done here,” she roared.  “We are not fucking done with this.  But fuck you.  Fuck you and your entitled, shitty fucking problem and your entitled, shitty fucking attitude.”

 

Pansy stormed from the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.  She nearly tripped on a pile of books left discarded on Harry’s bedroom floor, and with another roar of outrage, she grabbed her wand from her wingback chair and cast charms in rapid succession to clean up his room, banishing the clothes to the laundry and the books to his empty shelves and snapping open the curtains to let full daylight in.  

 

She muttered a refrain of “fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you” as she headed as quickly as she could to Grimmauld’s floo.  “Nott Manor!” Pansy yelled as she let go of the floo powder, unconsciously brushing away the moisture that had collected in the corners of her eyes with her other hand as she travelled, bare feet covered in ash.

* * *

 

“Granger, where the fuck are you?  Hermione!” Pansy yelled as she came through Theo’s floo.

 

“Nice to see you, too, Pansy,” Theo drawled from his seat on the sofa near the fireplace, sections of the Daily Prophet spread across his lap, breakfast tea spread before him on the low table between sofas.  “Forget something?” he said, gesturing to the bare feet sticking out from the bottoms of her trousers.

 

“Where is your girlfriend?” Pansy asked, realizing how out of breath she was feeling, how crazed she sounded.

 

“Indisposed, and what’s wrong with you?” Theo said as he eyed Pansy’s frantic expression.

 

“I need to talk to Granger.  Now.”

 

Theo folded the section he had been reading in his lap with a sigh, and ran a hand through his dark locks.  “She's in the bath, Pansy.  You can wait”

 

“Fuck that, Theo.  It's an emergency,” Pansy said as she rushed out of the room, headed in the direction of the master suite, glad she'd spent enough time here to know her way around.  “An emergency!” she yelled back at Theo as she sensed he was following her as she ran.

 

Pansy ran through the hallways, past paintings of Nott ancestors peering speculatively at the crazed dark haired woman sprinting past them.  She could hear their tittering as she let herself into the master suite and rushed through to the bathroom.

 

As Pansy entered, she found Hermione not in the bath, but rather splayed on the cool marble tile of the floor near the toilet in her oversized flannel pajamas, hand covering her eyes.  “I told you, Theo, I don't need you hovering.”

 

“You okay there, Granger?” Pansy asked.

 

Hermione started when she heard Pansy’s voice instead of her boyfriend’s.  “Pansy,” she said, swiftly sitting up, and then quickly shoving her hand over her mouth.

 

“What's wrong with you?”

 

Hermione took a second before responding.  “A bug, it seems.”

 

“Take a potion.  We've got a problem.”

 

“Harry?”

 

“Hermione?” Theo called out, his blue eyes full of concern as he surveyed the scene, finally having caught up to Pansy.

 

“It's fine, Theo. Pansy is here because of Harry.”

 

“Can I get you anything?” Theo asked, brows knit with worry.

 

“No, I'm fine for now.  Thank you,” she said, sweetly smiling.

 

“I'll be in my office then, love,” he told her, “give you and Pansy some privacy.”

 

Theo left, giving Hermione a fond look that made Pansy’s stomach clench.  She ignored the feeling and began.  “He took dreamless sleep last night.”

 

“Oh, god.  Pansy, is he okay?  Where did he get it?”

 

Pansy answered as she paced back and forth, dirty feet contrasting to the pale grey of the marble.  “I don't know.  I was too angry to ask.”

 

“Did anything…”

 

“No,” Pansy interrupted.  “He's okay.  I monitored his vitals all night and there were no ill effects.  He was lucky.”

 

“Where is he now?” Hermione asked.

 

“Still in the shower now, I presume.”

 

Hermione hummed, tapping her nails on the floor.  “Did the wards hold?”

 

“He must have taken it outside of the wards before coming home.  He passed out in the doorway of his bedroom.”  Pansy stopped pacing, and let out an exhausted breath.

 

“I was a little afraid something like that might happen,” Hermione sighed, and Pansy sank down onto the floor to sit next to her, back against the claw foot tub.  The women sat in silence for a few moments before Hermione shifted back to lie down to press her cheek on the cool tile again.

 

“Need me to sponge your forehead, Granger?” Pansy asked, crossing her arms against her chest.

 

“Just need a second,” Hermione mumbled.  “We can't account for every contingency.  We can't watch him every second of every day.”

 

“We can't force him to do anything.  Maybe…” Pansy started.  “But maybe we could, if we spread out the task over more people.”  She smoothed the ends of her hastily gathered ponytail on her shoulder as she thought.  “All the people he's been avoiding.  Maybe they could help.”

 

Hermione looked up at Pansy, and Pansy saw the wheels turning in Hermione’s brain.  “Yes.  I don't even think we need to be subtle with him about what we’re doing.  Everyone else will need a story, but Harry needs to know we’re watching.”

 

“He's ready to spend time with friends again, one on one.  He's had time to rest and recover now, and wants to see friends because it's the holidays.”

 

“Slytherin,” Hermione smirked.  “It's good, close to the truth and enough to keep people from asking too many questions.”  

 

Pansy exhaled. “Good.”

 

“I'll get the word out, work on a schedule for the next few days.  Ron’s so tied up with the exhibition game…” Hermione thought aloud.  “But Luna’s back from Sweden, I bet she'd stop by tomorrow.  And maybe later this week, he'd be up for visiting Neville at Hogwarts.”

 

“Better you than me,” Pansy said without derision.  “Today…” she trailed off, reluctant to ask more of Hermione.

 

“I'll stop by and talk with him, remind him of what he agreed to.”

 

“If you're not too delicate in your condition,” Pansy smirked.

 

“I'm sure I wouldn't know what you're talking about,” Hermione returned.  “But with a potion I'll be fit to talk to him.  And besides, you're in such a fine condition yourself.”

 

“I’m a sight better than you, that's for sure,” Pansy replied.  “At least I'm not clammy-looking.”

 

Hermione looked up at Pansy from the floor, eyes meeting in a look that felt like it might be the sincere beginning of a friendship.  “You continue to surprise me, Parkinson.  Thank you for letting me know, asking for my help.  Being there for Harry.”

 

“Now I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Pansy said, and paused, and weighed the words pressing on her tongue.  “But...thank you.  Hermione.”

 

“My pleasure,” Hermione said, as she brought a hand back to her mouth.  “Tell Theo he's welcome to come hold my hair on your way out.”

* * *

 

“I don't have anything to say to you,” Harry said, pulling his shirt over his head before taking off his jeans.  His navy boxers clung to his hip bones and Pansy did her best not to notice.  She was not at all sure why he seemed to be taunting her every time he took of some--or all--of his clothes around her, but she quickly decided it was smarter to ignore it.  He laid down on his bed, facing away from her.  But he did lie down, and Pansy could appreciate what that cost him.  Or maybe Granger was even more manipulative than she seemed.

 

“That's fine,” Pansy said, having steeled herself for the confrontation she had been anticipating all day.  “I've got plenty to say to you.”

 

Harry made a sound into the sheets, a muffled cross between a scoff and a snort.  Pansy drew her lotioned hands up his back.

 

“I know the past is eating at you, Harry, it's eating at you like it has eaten at me and Draco and Theo and even Granger as far as I can tell, but it doesn't need to.”  Pansy paused, but continued the sweeping motions over his back.

 

“Harry, you have to trust that I can help you.  I want to help you.  I can help you, I need to.  But you have to want it too, and you have to let me,” she said, holding her hands still on his upper back, her fingers resting on lighter skin and black ink.  She couldn't bring herself to make her fingers move, or take them away as she talked.  

 

 _Sympathetic magic_ , she thought and pushed her feelings, the worry and the hope and the quieter ones she’d yet to name, out of her fingertips and into his skin.  She wanted nothing more than for him to believe her.

 

“Maybe there's too much past here for this to work.  Maybe someone else would help you more, get you to stop taking more of the potion that's probably killing you unless you manage to give it up.”  She swallowed.  “But I'll be damned if I walk away from you without a fight, Harry Potter.”  She noticed then the rise and fall of his body had evened under her hands.  She chanced a quick sweep of her finger to brush the long, messy locks away from his face.  He slept.  She wondered exactly when he'd fallen asleep, if it was her shared magic or weariness from an afternoon filled with Granger’s nagging lectures.

  
Axel sighed from his spot hear Harry’s feet.  Pansy raised her eyebrow at the half-crup, who made a schnubbing sound and pressed his furry face into Harry’s leg.  So that's how it was.  Pansy let out a sigh of her own, and went to settle herself into her chair, waiting for Harry to call her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	8. December 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel is happy to see Harry and Pansy gives Harry another treatment.

Pansy had barely seen Harry around Grimmauld Place during the day, but felt better in that she could trust he was off with friends who were unsuspectingly helping her out.  He'd come in after dinner, met by an overexcited Axel who circled Harry’s legs for a full minute after Harry had walked in the door.  He'd even managed to grin at the crup, though his smile dropped away when he looked up to meet her gaze from his place on the floor with Axel.

 

He said little to her as he prepared for bed, though the quiet was not quite as sharp between them as it had been the night before.

 

She gasped when she went to begin Harry’s massage and saw a new tattoo flapping away on his left shoulder blade.  The vaguely familiar great snowy owl spread its wings as Pansy traced the moving ink on his skin.

 

“Luna,” was all he said.  

 

“The owl?”

 

“The artist.”

 

“Looney tattoos now?”

 

“Amongst other things.”

 

“It's beautiful.”

 

“Hedwig was,” Harry said quietly.  

 

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Pansy began.  “They seem...significant to you.”

 

Harry shifted his head slightly and Pansy took the motion for a nod.  “What about the one on your arse I saw yesterday?”

 

“It was one of Luna’s first, when she was learning.  I let her use my arse to practice.  No more significance than that.”

 

“Brave of you.”

 

“Not really.  It's just my arse.”

 

“Hmmm…” Pansy said.  “So I've been thinking about the dreamless sleep.”

 

Harry nearly interrupted in an annoyed rush of speech.  “Hermione already talked to me.  I don't need another fucking lecture.”

 

“No, that's not what I was going to say.  I've been thinking about addiction, how we’re all addicted to something, at some level,” she murmured as she made long strokes across his back.  “Wesley’s apparently addicted to his job and an awful quidditch team.  Granger’s addicted to always being right, telling me how bloody thankful she is all of the time, and peppermint tea.  Draco eats obscene amounts of chocolate, though you wouldn't know that by looking at him.  I can't get by without smart shoes and strong tea.  The trick is not needing things that can kill you.”  She sighed, as her hands slid up to knead at his neck.  “It's why I gave up smoking...and shagging Marcus Flint,” she added as an afterthought.

 

“UGH,” Harry murmured into the sheets.  “I thought this was supposed to relax me, not make me ill.”

 

“I didn't mean it in a dirty way, Merlin.  That ponce makes me crazy.  He's entirely too high strung, in and out of bed.  He's like Axel on a bad day.  Or any day, really.”

 

“I thought shagging was supposed to be relaxing,” Harry said.  “I mean, it's helped me take the edge off.”

 

“Right?  Marcus is too tight to unwind, or at least he was for me.  I had to stop trying for my own sake”  She waited a moment before asking, “Can I ask you a question?  An unrelated question.”

 

“You can ask but it doesn't mean I'll answer it.”

 

“Where did you buy the dreamless sleep the other night?”

 

Harry instantly tensed underneath her hands.  “What, you going to have me banned from all of the apothecaries in London?” 

 

“No,” Pansy hesitated.  “There's no need for that, and I'm sure you're clever enough to get what you want from Knockturn or any other number of places if I somehow managed to.”  She paused, before reassuring him, “No.  I'm just curious.”

 

“Hum.”

 

“Seriously.  Please.”

 

“Smithe’s,” Harry hesitated, then admitted.

 

“Interesting.  That's Draco’s apothecary.”

 

Harry pushed up on his forearms and twisted to look up at Pansy.  “What the fuck?”

 

Pansy let out a laugh.  “He didn't want to mar his chances of running a successful business by hanging them on his family name.”

 

“That's quite the turn.”

 

“Yeah.  There's a lot about him that would surprise you, I think,” she said as Harry settled himself flat on his bed again, resting his cheek on the arm he folded under his head.

 

“Well, his stuff’s good at any rate.  Potent.  Works better and longer than most.”

 

Pansy shifted her hands to concentrate on Harry’s lower back, and releasing tension from around his hips.  “I'll let him know you said so.  And then make him promise me not to sell to you anymore.”

 

“Hey!” he twisted up again to glare at her, green eyes flaring in the lamplight.

 

“Slytherin,” she said as she gently pushed him back down onto the mattress.

 

Their conversation stilled, and the room fell into silence broken only by Axel’s snores and the sounds of Pansy moving the lotion jars on the table.  Harry's treatment went long, because in spite of Pansy’s best efforts, he was harder to calm than usual.  Pansy didn't know if it was due to the lingering repercussions of their fight or the stress of being thrust back in the company of his friends, or something else entirely.  The suggestion of the return of their earlier repartee pleased her, warmed her, but Pansy felt smart to be reluctant to trust in it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, always, always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I can also be found on tumblr with the same name, so find me there if you'd like!


	9. December 8th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Harry have another argument and an interesting night.

Pansy pulled the elastic band out of her hair and shook her raven locks to loosen the waves over her shoulders.  She'd woken early and had decided to work on her case notes and files in the kitchen before her standing Wednesday lunch appointment with Daphne Greengrass.  Pansy was still in the comfortable black and green monogrammed flannel pajamas she'd changed into after Harry’s treatment the prior evening and felt deliciously lazy in spite of her productive morning.  She flicked her wand at the teapot to re-warm it as Harry entered the kitchen.  

 

“Good morning,” Pansy offered.

 

“Hi,” he said.  “You're not usually in here this late.”  Harry was dressed in fresh jeans and a grey pullover hoodie, but still held the rumpled aura of sleep around him.  Axel scurried over to Harry, demanding attention.  Harry knelt down and greeted the ecstatic crup, who was valiantly attempting to stick his tongue down Harry’s throat.

 

“Catching up on some paperwork.  Care to join me?” she gestured at the seat across from her at the table, and absently flicked her wand towards the toaster.  

 

“I guess,” he responded, sliding into the chair, looking uncomfortable to be with her in his own kitchen.

 

“I'm bringing friends over to join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Pansy mentioned as she began to gather her files to return them to the leather satchel resting by her bare feet on the floor.

 

“No,” Harry said.

 

Pansy continued to gather her paperwork.  “Just a couple, just a quiet dinner.  I think it would be good for you to talk to them as part of your treatment.”

 

“Who?” Harry asked.

 

Pansy met his eyes.  “Draco, and his wife, Astoria.”

 

“No.”  Harry folded his arms over his chest.

 

“Harry!”

 

“No.”

 

“Harry...Draco was my first patient, the one I've published extensive case studies about, the one who I helped deal with the aftermath of his experiences in the war.  I'd like you to talk, get to know each other.  I think it would help and he's already agreed.”

 

“Malfoy?”

 

“Yes.  Draco.”  

 

Harry’s face twisted.  “Did you massage him, too?”

 

“Sometimes...the efficacy of touch in trauma recovery is incredible.”

 

“I bet you liked that.  Did he get happy endings with his massages?”

 

“What?  No, that's absurd.”

 

“Everything about you is absurd,” was Harry’s weak retort, but it was enough to make Pansy’s composure disappear.

 

“Fuck you, Harry.  I've never slept with Draco.  I've never wanted to.”

 

“Ha, I find that to believe, with the way you panted after him at Hogwarts.”

 

“He's practically my brother.”

 

“Maybe he is.”

 

“Is that some kind of pureblood joke?  Well, it wasn't fucking funny.  You're fucking flailing and it's sad, Harry.  It's just dinner and now you're making shitty accusations like its sixth year all over again.  Fuck this, they are coming to dinner.  And fuck you, you will join us and be a fucking gentleman and listen with your fucking ears instead of mouthing off at every minuscule fucking opportunity.”

 

“What is this?  Everyone runs Harry's life week?”  

 

“Like you've been doing such a bang up job of it yourself.”

 

“Fuck you,” he said venomously.  At the same time he sunk deeper into his chair, and deflated.  As quickly as Pansy’s composure had left her, it returned and she was left wanting to comfort the man obviously hurting in front of her.

 

Pansy stood up and strode over to Harry’s side of the table, crouching down near his feet to be able to meet his eyes.  She spoke softly.  “Harry, I'm not trying to run your life, or ruin your life.”  

 

He scoffed.

 

“I'm not,” she asserted, “though I can't say the same for Granger.”  She tilted her head in consideration for a moment.  “But she does seem to have her hands full with her own situation right now.”

 

Harry looked up to meet her eyes.  “She told you?” he asked, surprised.

 

Pansy smiled mysteriously.  “Told me what?”

 

“Right,” he said.  “I'm almost afraid of how similar you two can be, and how well you're getting on with each other.”

 

Pansy smiled, because she felt the same, but immediately sobered upon remembering the argument she and Harry were in the middle of having.  “Harry,” she said, setting her hand gently upon his denim clad knee.  Even after a only a week, there was comfort and familiarity for both of them in her touch.  “I'm not trying to take over your life.  I'm not trying to treat you like a child.  I'm not trying to ruin anything.  I'm only trying to help you get past your reliance on dreamless sleep, to make you feel more comfortable moving on from the past and dealing with what was asked of you for your whole childhood.”  She brushed her thumb along the denim.  He didn't meet her eyes. 

 

“I think you should find a proper mind healer, who you could talk to and confide in.  Someone who didn't try to turn you over to a dark lord during the final battle of a war where you were basically a sacrificial animal anyway.”  With this, Harry looked up at her through long, dark lashes.  

 

“I know you didn't…” he started to say, as his eyes bore into hers.

 

“Yeah,” Pansy responded quietly, not letting her eyes move away from his.  “There is a lot I can do to help you, but I can't do everything.  And I don't think you should have to face everything by yourself, either.  A mind healer would be good for you, Harry.  And I really want you to talk to Draco tomorrow night.”

 

Harry looked into her eyes for a long, quiet moment, as Pansy held her breath.  She couldn't estimate what he was trying to see, so she watched him back and waited. Hoped.

 

“Yeah, okay.”  Her hope bloomed.

 

“Really?” A slow grin spread across Pansy’s face.  

 

“I guess I could talk to Draco.  Once.”  Harry shrugged.

 

“Thank you,” Pansy said as she patted his leg, then removed her hand to stand.  “I've got lunch with a patient, and a few afternoon appointments.”  She gathered her files and her bag and took them to leave.  “Do you mind letting Axel out once or twice, if you're going to be around?”

 

Harry had risen to grab a mug from the cupboard.  “No, I don't mind,” he said, moving for the teapot.  “I'll be here; I guess George is coming over later.  I'll see you tonight.”

 

“Tonight,” Pansy agreed, as she left the kitchen to get ready.

* * *

Harry screamed in his sleep, a bloodcurdling howl that woke Pansy instantaneously.  She rushed over to the bed, where he was panting her name as he thrashed.  “Pansy...no...Pansy...NO!”

 

“Shhhhh...I'm here, I'm here, Harry,” she said into the dark as she climbed onto his bed.

 

“No!” he yelled, he pulled her down, and shifted to press the length of her into him, his arm woven around her shoulders.  “Don't leave me,” he whispered, his voice shaking.  Pansy wondered if he was awake, if he was conscious of his actions.  “Stay so they don't come.”

 

“Shhh,” she muttered, unsure if she should untwine herself from him, push away, roll him onto his stomach to start a massage, like she had for every other nightmare. Instead, she felt compelled to let him hold her and pressed her hand into his chest.  “Shhhh...I'm right here.”

 

He gathered her closer into him, and in her wavering she let him, and his breathing quickly evened.  Pansy lay there in Harry’s arms, concentrating on the familiar press of her hand to his chest.  His touch on her body felt warm and foreign yet somehow familiar, like somehow she innately knew the weight of the grasp of his fingers at her waist, the smooth shifting of skin past skin as their feet touched.  

  
In his sleep he clung to her, never releasing her or fully relaxing.  But he slept, quietly, without nightmares.  At most, Pansy dozed, waking periodically to catalog new details, sharpened yet dream-like by sleep: the soft way the ends of his hair brushed her face; the board-like stiffness of the muscles of his legs on hers; the weight of his hand when it covered hers, their fingers intertwined and resting over his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and leaving kudos and comments!


	10. December 9th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Harry wake up. The Malfoys come over for dinner.

Pansy was eventually lulled into sleep by the early morning hours, and they slept, without nightmares or screams or interruption, until the sun was high in the sky. Her eyes flickered open but quickly shuttered again at the unexpected light once she stirred. Waking in a bed was unusual for her of late, and waking in someone else's arms was even rarer.

As she woke she became conscious of her body and Harry's body and all of the ways they were still touching, how little they must have moved during the night. She realized their twined feet also rested in Axel's fluffy fur, and was surprised he hadn't yet woken them to make a nuisance of himself.

Pansy wasn't sure what to do. Should she extract herself? Should she feign sleep until Harry woke? Should she poke Axel with her foot to dislodge him and have him cause a disruption?

As she deliberated internally, Harry began shifting towards consciousness. He gradually pulled her closer to bury his face into her raven hair. He breathed in as he squeezed their twined fingers on his chest. Pansy's eyes fluttered closed as Harry's snapped open.

He released his grip on her fingers and slipped his hand out from under hers. Slowly he separated their legs and gradually moved to sit with his back against the headboard. Even with her eyes closed, Pansy was certain he was watching her and decided to pretend to wake up.

She opened her eyes, wincing at the light, and yawned more dramatically than she probably needed. Rolling over to her side, she looked up at Harry. His hair was messier than usual, falling in tangled waves to his shoulders, and he looked younger, somehow, in the bright light of morning. He held Pansy's eyes for a moment, before tracing them over the flannel pajamas she'd slept in.

Axel wormed his way up the bed between them, and tried to capture as much of their attention as he could, pushing his wiggling body into Harry's side while kicking at Pansy with his stubby legs.

As Harry's fingers twined themselves in Axel's fur, he brought his eyes to Pansy's again and simply said, "thank you."

"It's nothing," Pansy returned before turning her attention to chide her crup. "Ax, must you always dig your claws in me first thing? Come on, let's get you outside." And Axel followed Pansy as she rolled out of Harry's bed and moved towards her own room.

* * *

The Malfoys arrived at the appointed time, and Pansy met them at the front door. "You'll have to excuse the master of the house," she said as she took their coats. "It's like he's back at Hogwarts again."

"Let me guess, petulant and entitled and moody?" Draco asked as he kissed Pansy on both cheeks. "It's as if time has hardly passed."

"You should be one to talk," Astoria said before pressing kisses of her own to Pansy's cheeks as Pansy grinned.

"We're having takeaway tonight," Pansy told them as she ushered them back towards the dining room. "You've suffered through my cooking enough to prefer takeaway, I'm sure," she told them. "And as I've yet to experience Harry's, I thought this was the safer choice."

"Anything is fine, Pans," Astoria said. "We brought a lovely white wine from my father's cellar. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, it's all set up in the dining room," Pansy said, gesturing toward the appointed door.

"How are you settling in here?" Draco asked Pansy as they entered the large, formal room with its oversized table and a fire lit in the grand fireplace.

"All right," Pansy said as she took the wine bottle Astoria offered and moved to set it to chill in a charmed wine bucket. Draco and Astoria settled themselves at the table. "Axel is in heaven."

"More space, I'd imagine," Draco said. "New smells."

"He loves Harry," Pansy added. "And there are more portraits for him to argue with."

Astoria laughed. "I've never understood his predilection for carrying on at portraits."

Pansy's laughter joined Astoria's. "There's a lot about Axel I've never understood," she said. "I had lunch with your sister yesterday before her appointment."

Before Astoria could answer, the door to the dining room opened and Axel scurried in the room, yapping in front of Harry. The crup enthusiastically greeted their guests as Harry hung back near the door. As Draco bent down to encourage Axel to keep his paws off Draco's trousers, Astoria strode over and extended her hand to Harry.

"Hi, Harry. I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. I'm Astoria," she said with a bright, warm smile. "I'm so glad you agreed to let us dine with you this evening."

Harry returned her handshake, but stuttered a brief, quiet response. "Yeah. Thanks. I mean, no problem."

Draco walked behind Astoria, placing a hand on her shoulder as he presented the other to Harry. "Harry. It's good to see you."

Harry looked at Draco's hand for a moment before returning the grasp. "It's been a long time. Malfoy."

Draco met Harry's eyes as their hands separated. "Please, call me Draco."

Harry shrugged. "Sure."

"Wine's chilled," Pansy said from her spot near the table. She began to pour it into the sparkling glasses she'd set out, and then turned to Harry. "Can you help me bring in the food? It's in the kitchen."

"Sure," he said, and headed for the kitchen with Pansy at his heels.

Once the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, Pansy stepped close to Harry. "How are you feeling so far?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Fine. Ready to get this over with," he said, barely leaning into her hand. "Where's the food?"

Pansy gestured towards the kitchen table. "Under a stasis charm."

Harry stepped over, eyeing the little boxes and plastic containers and the pile of paper-wrapped chopsticks before him. "Is this Thai? Are they okay with that? It's Muggle!"

Pansy smiled at Harry. "I told you a lot has changed."

He only nodded, and moved to carry as many of the takeaway containers as he could and left for the dining room.

* * *

Conversation between the Malfoys and Harry over dinner had been more spirited than Pansy had been expecting, but they'd stuck to the safe topic of food. Astoria's lack of fear of muggle establishments had expanded Draco's culinary horizons, and it was easy to debate the merits of Tom's fish and chips at the Leaky Cauldron to those they'd consumed at pubs around muggle London.

Pansy banished their empty plates to the kitchen and said, "Why don't we retire to the living room for more wine and to talk?"

Harry threw Pansy a stricken look but followed along after Draco and Astoria rose to follow Pansy. They arranged themselves on the sofas in the living room clustered near the fireplace, Draco and Astoria cuddled on one with a stiff, and uncomfortable Harry on the opposite end of the other, cushions away from Pansy.

Her wineglass still in hand, Pansy gestured towards Draco. "Harry, you know that Draco was my patient, my first patient."

"I'm aware," he said, eyes focused on the fire.

Pansy continued, "I was thinking it would be good for you and Draco to have a chance to talk. I know your experiences during the war were quite different, but the repercussions you've faced are very similar. Nightmares. Panic. Withdrawal from the people in your lives. Physical symptoms, excessive tension. Shite sleep."

Draco nodded. "It took Pansy fighting for me, healing me, and meeting Astoria, to get myself back together again." He took a long swallow of his wine. "It wasn't easy, Harry. I'm certain it's not easy for you, either."

Harry continued to look into the fire. "I'm sure you know exactly everything I'm feeling, Draco," Harry spouted. "I wasn't aware you'd gotten your healer qualifications either."

"No," Draco drawled. "Pansy has, and you obviously know she knows what she's doing."

Harry's head snapped toward Draco. "I do, do I? Why is everyone so fucking sure they know what I'm feeling, or what I should be feeling?"

"Harry…" Pansy said, eyes wide and dark in the firelight, as she shifted down the sofa towards him.

He rose from the couch. "No, Pansy, I'm done. I ate dinner. I played nice for you. But I'm not sitting here through another lecture chiding me for feeling what I'm feeling. Especially not from Malfoy. I tried. I can't do this."

"Harry, that's not what…" she started to say, but he had already left the room. She looked back at Draco and Astoria sheepishly as she rose herself.

"Pansy, it's okay. We understand," Astoria offered with a kind look on her face.

"Maybe there's too much history between us for this," Draco sighed. "It was worth a shot."

Astoria rose to hug Pansy. "Go after him. I can tell you want to. We'll find our way out."

"Are you sure?" Pansy asked.

"Go do your job," Draco answered.

"I'll owl you tomorrow," she promised, and left to follow Harry to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one did not want to be written. Endless love and thanks to disillusionist9, whose encouragement and brainstorming saves me every time.
> 
> And endless love and thanks to you, too, for reading and sharing your thoughts with me. Until tomorrow!


	11. December 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy meets up with Hermione and Theo. Harry has a conversation with Axel.

Pansy breezed into the cafe where she'd initially met with Ron and Hermione.  The holiday decorations were still there, this time accented by Celestina Warbeck warbling holiday songs in the background.  

 

Hermione and Theo were tucked into the corner booth, both in thick knit jumpers with steaming mugs of tea.  Pansy, in a floral midi dress and heeled boots, had gotten used to contrasting with Hermione’s casual style.

 

Hermione smiled when she saw Pansy slide into the other side of their booth.  “Pansy.  Good to see you,” Hermione said. 

 

“You're looking better too,” Pansy mentioned.  “Hey, Theo.”  She looked around.  “Where's Weasley?”

 

Hermione sipped her tea and shrugged.  “Tied up at the office.”

 

Theo rolled his eyes.  “I swear, something's up with that guy.”

 

“Your book is making you see conspiracy and intrigue everywhere,” Hermione told him. “You weren't this paranoid before you started writing it. Though,” she continued, “did you see him on the front page of the Prophet this morning?  He was with Blaise Zabini and Oliver Wood promoting the exhibition game in a few weeks.”

 

Pansy signaled for the waitress.  “Axel got to the paper first this morning, so I didn't bother,” she told them.

 

“So, how’s Harry?” Hermione asked.  

 

“It's been an interesting couple of days,” Pansy said.

 

“Oh, no, Pansy, why didn't you tell me if he'd…”

 

“Don't worry your frizzy little head.  He hasn't taken any more dreamless sleep.”  

 

Hermione’s shoulders shrugged in relief as she leaned into Theo.  “Good.”

 

“He's even been sleeping better,” Pansy shared.

 

“The treatments are working, then!” Hermione said brightly.

 

“Yeah,” Pansy said, not wanting to go into the nights she'd been spending in Harry’s bed.  The waitress came to deposit a mug of strong, black tea in front of her.  “Thank you.”  When she'd left, after Hermione had asked for more peppermint tea, Pansy told them, “The Malfoys came over for dinner last night.”

 

Hermione raised her eyebrow as Theo let out a low whistle.  

 

“I wanted to try to get Harry and Draco to talk.  Where Harry is now is not so dissimilar from where Draco was a few years ago when I first started working with him, and I thought it might help Harry.”

 

“Did it?” Theo asked.

 

“Well, it might've, if Harry hadn't stormed out after dinner.”

 

“Did he listen at all?” Hermione asked, fiddling with her empty mug.

 

“He was quiet but polite during dinner, but after, when Draco was trying to talk to him, he got upset and left,” Pansy told them.

 

“Did he say why?” Hermione asked, as the waitress delivered her tea.

 

“He said he's upset because everyone keeps assuming how he's feeling, or telling him how he should feel,” Pansy said, taking a sip out of her own mug.  She paused, questioning how much more she should share.  “He apologized to me, later, during his treatment.”

 

Hermione’s look of surprise was followed swiftly by a pleased expression that   “You're getting through to him.”

 

“It's on Harry, how much he's open to working through his issues,” Pansy said.

 

“I've never known you to be so modest, Pans,” Theo interjected, arms crossed against his chest.

 

“Healing is different, Theo,” Pansy retorted.  “It's still early.  And as we learned last night, there's no making Harry Potter do much that he doesn't want to do.”

 

“True,” Hermione said.  “Thank you, Pansy.  

 

“What did I tell you about that, Granger?” Pansy asked with a sneer that did not reach her eyes.

 

Hermione grinned back at her.  “I don't care.  Will we see you on Sunday with Harry?”

 

“I'll do my best,” she said with a genuine smile.  

* * *

Pansy stopped outside of Harry’s room when she heard his voice.

 

“Aren't you a good boy?” he asked, and Pansy could instantly picture Axel’s splayed position on Harry’s bed.

 

“Where's your mistress tonight?” Harry asked him and Pansy heard the squeaking of Axel’s yawned response.  She supposed she should enter and stop eavesdropping, but a desperate desire to get a glimpse into Harry’s head kept her pinned to the dark wallpaper in the hallway.

 

“Are you saying she bores you, or that you're tired and ready to go to sleep too?” Harry paused, apparently to scratch at Axel in one of his favorite spots, as Pansy could hear the rustling of the covers as Axel shifted himself over the sheets under Harry’s hands.

 

“Well, you're wrong if you’re saying she's boring,” Harry said as Axel continued to soak up the attention, making little contented humming noises back at Harry.  “No, she’s not at all boring.”  He paused and Pansy could hear man or crup moving on the bed.  She guessed the sound consistent with Harry laying down, or Axel attempting to climb in Harry’s lap.  

 

“Right?  She's more brilliant than I would've guessed.  And, well, you know about her hands, I'm sure.  Don't you, pup?”  Axel grunted happily in return.  

 

“You don't seem to mind that mine pale in comparison,” Harry told him before laughing.  “Don't need your tongue down my throat, Axel.  Always trying to kiss me, aren't you?”  Pansy could hear the flapping of Axel’s tongue.  “Kind of wish you weren't the only one.”

 

Pansy crept backwards down the hallway as silently as possible, before heading back to Harry’s room, stepping loudly and knocking the wall with her elbow once to announce her presence.

 

“Oh, hi,” Harry greeted her, and Pansy felt sure she saw the faint tinge of an embarrassed flush on Harry’s cheek, though she supposed it could be from resting his head on the warmth of Axel’s belly.  Harry’s flush made her flush in return, and she quickly moved to organize her supplies on his bedside table.

* * *

That night when Harry screamed, Pansy didn't hesitate.  She moved swiftly from her chair to climb into his bed and let him gather her to him.  It took what seemed like mere seconds for them both to settle back to sleep in each other's arms.


	12. December 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comes for breakfast. Harry has a question for Pansy.

Pansy open Grimmauld’s front door to find Draco.

 

“I bought pastries,” he grinned.

 

“Chocolate, I'm sure,” Pansy said, as she took his wool coat and hung it on the coat stand by the door.

 

“Filled with and covered in, just how I like them, and some boring creme ones for you.”

 

“You're so thoughtful,” she teased as she led him to the kitchen.  “I've got tea made,” she said.  “Thanks for coming over.”

 

“You gave me an excuse to let Astoria host her sister and mother without my interference,” he told her, sitting down at the table.

 

“So it really was not a problem for you, you're saying,” Pansy said with a grin.

 

“And I wanted to talk with you about the other night,” he said, pulling out a chocolate-covered confection from the bakery bag.  

 

“I did warn you,” Pansy said, grabbing her own pastry from Draco’s bag.

 

“You did,” he said, licking some errant chocolate from the side of his thumb.  “I was just thinking that maybe a dinner ambush wasn't the best way to go about our reintroduction,” Draco said.

 

Pansy sighed.  “I know.”

 

Draco moved to touch the hand she was resting on her napkin.  “It doesn't mean I'm not willing to try again, though.”

 

“I'm glad,” Pansy said, squeezing Draco’s hand in return.

 

“What about today?” Draco asked, taking another bite which left a trail of chocolate ganache across his upper lip.

 

“He's not up yet, I don't think.  I'm not sure what he's up to…” Pansy said, as Harry entered the kitchen, door swinging behind him.

 

“Uh, hi,” Harry said, running a hand through his bedhead.

 

“Good morning, Harry,” Pansy said.

 

Draco stood up and offered his hand to Harry.  “Morning, Potter.”

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said as he shook it for a moment before turning to grab a mug out of the cupboard.  “Early for you to be in my kitchen.”

 

“I came to see Pansy,” Draco told him, pushing the bakery bag in Harry’s direction.  “Breakfast if you want it.  And I was hoping to talk to you too.”

 

Harry stood with his back against the counter and a full mug in hand.  He eyed the bag of pastries before looking back at Draco.  “About what?” Harry asked, as he took the seat next to Pansy and moved to reach into the bag.  “Thanks,” he added, tipping the pastry towards Draco before taking a bite.

 

“I know we didn't have the most...productive conversation the other night,” Draco began.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“I was hoping you'd be amenable to trying again,” Draco said.

 

“I don't know why you want to talk about feelings with me so badly, Malfoy,” Harry said, while flaking apart the layers of pastry on his plate. 

 

“I was actually hoping you might come flying with me,” Draco offered.  “I just got the new Nimbus and the latest Cleansweep and was thinking we could have a go.”

 

Pansy saw Harry’s spine straighten and his shoulders roll back.  “Both models?” he asked.  “Where do you fly?”

 

“On the Manor grounds,” Draco said, brushing the crumbs off his jumper with his napkin.  “I'm sure we could find somewhere else if that's a problem.”

 

Harry hesitated, looking over at Pansy, before turning to Draco and shaking his head.  “No, that's not a problem.  I'll come fly with you,” he said.  “It's been a long time since I have,” Harry admitted.

 

“Then I look forward to catching many snitches in front of you today,” Draco smiled.

 

Harry smirked.  “In your dreams, Malfoy,” Harry said.  “Let me go get my gear and floo Hermione to say I won't be coming over.”  He drained his tea and set the mug in the sink.  “Ten minutes,” he said as he went to leave the room.

 

After the door swung closed, Draco turned to Pansy with a smug grin she'd seen on his face thousands of times since their childhood.  “You're not the only one with skills, my friend,” he told her.

 

“I'm impressed,” Pansy said.  “Just make sure to return him in one piece,” she said, taking the last swig of her tea.  “And, you know, if the serious stuff comes up, don't push him too hard.  Don't be a ponce.”

 

“Yes, mother,” Draco replied, before grabbing her hand again.  “You know I know.”

 

“All too well,” she said, patting his hand on hers.  “Draco...thank you.”

 

“Wouldn't be here without you, love.”

 

“Me either,” Pansy returned, gripping his hand even tighter.

* * *

Harry found Pansy in the back garden, illuminated in the dark by the lights from the house, when he returned home from flying with Draco, windswept and flushed and smiling.  It made Pansy’s stomach clench and her heart hurt and she quickly looked away to spot Axel meandering around near the fence.

 

“I wanted to ask you something,” Harry said.  “It's…”

 

“What is it, Harry?” Pansy looked up at him, the waves of her hair falling from under her knit cap. 

 

“I...uh...wanted to ask you if you would…”

 

“Oh my god, no happy endings, Harry! I am your healer!”

 

“No!” he interrupted.  “No, god.”

 

Pansy raised her eyebrow at Harry.

 

“You've been sleeping with me,” he said.

 

“Because you've been pulling me down and holding me to you when you wake up with nightmares, yes,” and Pansy crossed her arms, against the cold or the weight of the conversation, she wasn't sure.

 

“Right,” Harry said.  “But...uhm...the thing is, is I don't know if you've noticed, but when you do, I don't have nightmares.  I can actually just...sleep.”

 

“Yeah,” Pansy admitted softly, meeting his eyes.  “I've noticed.”

 

“Could you...would you mind...I mean…” he paused to collect himself.  “Thinking about you sleeping with me keeps me from thinking about how to get more dreamless sleep,” Harry admitted.  “I was hoping you'd be okay with...continuing.  To sleep in my bed.  On purpose.  Every night, for the rest of the month,” he said and then quickly looked away.  Pansy watched his eyes searching for Axel in the bushes.

 

She considered his request, what it had taken for him to ask her, and that he seemed oddly bolstered after his day with Draco.  He watched her with his green eyes more open to her than she'd seen them.  The healer in her knew the proper answer, but what fell out of her lips was, “Yes.  Yeah, I suppose that would be okay.  Since it works.”

 

Harry looked momentarily pleased, and Pansy’s stomach clenched.  She knew, knew so deeply in her bones, that she was in trouble.

 

“I'm going to tell you again, I recommend you find a mind healer, Harry.  Living with you is making it fucking hard to be objective in the way a mind healer really needs to be, especially now, if we're going to be in the same bed every night...So just, please, Harry.  Find someone else to work with, too.”

 

“I'm thinking about it.”

 

“Thank you,” Pansy said.

 

“Draco told me how much it helped.”

 

Pansy tried to shutter the surprise from her face before responding.  “Yes, it really did,” she said before pausing.  “I'm...going to bring Axel in and go get ready for bed, then.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I still want to continue the touch treatments, though.  You're not getting out of them.”

 

Harry smiled, and bumped her with his shoulder.  “I was hoping you'd say that,” he said before calling for Axel to follow them in.  He opened the back door and gestured for Pansy to enter ahead of them, the scampering crup getting underfoot as they walked through the door.  “I'll see you soon, then,” Harry said.

 

“Soon,” Pansy replied, pulling the cap off her head as she watched Harry and Axel climb the stairs ahead of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU, as always! Just a quick note about tomorrow's chapter, it will either be posted much earlier than normal, or much later, due to some real life stuff (who schedules an office holiday party on a Monday?!). Anyway, THANK YOU!


	13. December 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and friends go caroling.

Harry apparated Pansy outside of the Ministry orphanage, just as the London sun set for the night.  

 

“Oh,” Pansy said, when she realized where they were.  “You told me we were going caroling, but I didn’t expect it to be here,” she told him.  

 

“It’s tradition,” Harry said, squeezing the gloved hand he hadn’t let go of, even after they landed.  “Ron and Hermione and I started the holiday after the war, and we still come every year.”

 

She squeezed his hand back.  “It’s a lovely tradition,” she said as they climbed the stone steps at the front of the building.  “And I can tell it means a lot to you.  You would’ve come even if Hermione and Ron hadn’t gotten me to help you.”  It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes.  Every year,” Harry told her.  “Even a couple of Christmases ago, when Ron and Hermione had just broken up and weren’t getting along very well, we all still came.”  He held open the orphanage’s door for Pansy to enter, and they saw Hermione and Theo waiting inside the entrance, Hermione leaning into Theo.  Ron was sitting near them on a worn, wooden bench talking with Blaise Zabini and his sister, who was standing nearby looking disgusted.  Luna sat on the floor, making crowns out of what looked like sprigs of holly.  

 

“Harry,” Hermione moved to greet him, crushing him to her in a hug.  “And Pansy!  I’m so glad you could join us this year.”  

 

“No need to hug me, Granger,” Pansy said.  “I’m happy to be here.  Hi, Theo,” she said.  

 

“Hey, Pans,” Theo said.  “Harry, you’re looking well.”

 

Ron stood and walked over, offering his hand to Pansy.  “Nice to see you again, Parkinson.  I hear you’re working wonders with Harry here.”

 

“I’m trying,” she said, giving Ron’s hand a brief shake.  “Zabini, it’s been a long time,” she said to Blaise.

 

“Pansy,” Blaise drawled.  “I’ve been working with Ron here on the exhibition quidditch match and when he mentioned why he wasn’t available for another planning session tonight, I offered to join him.  The Cannons have donated enough merchandise to have all the kids decked out in orange.”

 

“Sweet,” Pansy said, giving him a speculative look.  “Quite the marketing opportunity for you.”

 

“No, Pansy.  Just here to help out some deserving kids,” he said, before moving in close to whisper something in Ron’s ear.  Ron just met Blaise’s eye and grinned in response.

 

“All right,” Harry said loud enough to catch the attention of the group.  “Hermione, do you have the gifts?”

 

She patted her old beaded bag, hanging from one of her wrists.  “Wrapped, shrunken, and all here,” she told him.

 

“Luna,” Harry said next.  “Your crowns?”

 

“Aye, all ready,” she told him, placing a holly wreath lop-sided on his head.  “I’ve enough for everyone.”

 

Pansy caught Harry’s eye to give him a cheeky smirk.  “Cute,” she mouthed at him.  Harry grinned in response.

 

“Okay, then.  We’re ready to head in to see the kids.  Get ready to sing,” he told them, and led them down the hallway to the main room of the orphanage.

* * *

They stayed at the orphanage for several hours, singing with the kids, handing out all of the gifts and eating lots of holiday sweets.  Pansy and Luna had been surrounded by little girls, and they had taken turns plaiting their hair into braids and placing Luna’s crowns on their heads.  The older kids had gathered around Ginny, Blaise, and Ron, asking questions upon questions about quidditch maneuvers and what different players were like.  Hermione and Theo had taken turns reading to the quieter kids, with a little boy falling asleep in Theo’s lap.  

 

Harry spent time with every child, giving hugs and kind words and reassurance.  Pansy watched him, watched the kids lighting up to have his full attention and kindness.  She wondered about Harry’s childhood, wondered about the muggle relatives she knew he’d lived with and how they’d treated him.  She watched him, the confidence and grace with which he moved around the kids, the same confidence and grace he seemed to have during rare moments without worry.  She eyed the hair covering his neck and the snug jumper covering his tattooed skin and reveled in the light in his eyes.  

 

When they were finished, the group said goodbye on the front steps of the orphanages, sharing hugs and kisses on cheeks, as the lights of the city glowed orange on the low cloud cover.  

 

“Ready to go home?” Harry asked Pansy as he reached out to grab her hand.  

 

Her gloves still stashed in the pocket of her coat, she laced her bare fingers through his and nodded.  “Let’s go home,” she told him as she met his eyes with a smile.  And together they whirled back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Pansy finished with Harry’s treatment and took care to recork all of the lotion bottles she'd used.  Once her supplies were settled, she flicked off the lamp with her wand and carefully navigated the perimeter of the bed to climb in on what had become ‘her’ side.

 

She pulled up the warm blankets around her, and nudged Axel with her foot.  She turned on her side to face Harry.  He was lying so quietly by the end of his treatment that she was almost sure he'd fallen asleep, so she was surprised when he turned to face her as well, and reached out to lace his fingers through hers for the third time that evening.

 

“So...I'm curious,” he began, while rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, and Pansy could hear the smirk in his voice.  “By now you're quite intimately familiar with my body.”

 

“I suppose you could say that,” she offered.  “Your back at least.”

 

“And my neck...and my legs...and evenly my arse,” he continued.

 

Pansy hummed in response.

 

“But what about your body?” he asked.  “I want to know,” Harry said as Pansy made a move to pull back from him, but he only gripped her hand more firmly.  “Scars?  Tattoos?” he asked, whispering, “Horrible disfigurements hidden by your clothes?”

 

“Ha,” Pansy told him.  “No.  Nothing very interesting.  No tattoos, no grotesque appendages or anything weird.”  She let her own thumb explore the back of the hand that held hers.  The ridges of the skin seemed like writing as she touched them.

 

“Scars?” he asked again.

 

“One on my knee, from when Draco and Theo and Daphne and I were trying to hide from Draco’s governess in the gardens at Malfoy Manor.  I think we were six.  One of their fucking peacocks got me.”

 

Harry laughed.  “That's hilarious.”

 

“I tried to go after it.  Draco and Theo had to hold me back.”

 

“I can just see that, a pissed off little black haired girl trying to take down a peacock,” Harry told her.

 

“We didn't want to tell Narcissa, so no one healed it.”

 

“Any other scars?”

 

Pansy paused, and ran her thumb across the skin of the back of his hand again, trying to work out the letters that seemed to be there.  “The last year at Hogwarts...wasn't pleasant.  Even for us.  The Carrows…” 

 

“How bad?” Harry asked in a voice so quiet and harsh it shook Pansy.  He engulfed her into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.  

 

“I'm fine, Harry.  Just some curse marks from protecting the younger years.”  

 

Harry growled in her ear.  Pansy’s hand wandered up Harry’s chest to touch the ends of his hair, then slid down to rest on his chest, covering his heart.

 

“The kids all seemed to really like you tonight,” Pansy said, hoping to change the subject.

 

“They’re great,” he told her, covering her hand with his.  “I try to get there to see them a few times a year.  It’s not enough.”

 

“It’s something.  Thank you for inviting me.  I’d like to go with you when you do,” Pansy confessed.

 

“You would?” Harry asked, shifting his head to look at her as if he could see her face in the dark of his room.  

 

“I would love to,” she said.  “And anything else I can do to help, just let me know.”  Harry pulled her closer into him, brushed his nose against the top of her head.

 

“You’re sweeter than you’d have people believe, Pansy Parkinson,” he said.

 

“Shhhhh...you’ll ruin my good name,” she teased.  

  
“Never,” he whispered back.  “Never.”  With their hands joined on his chest, and her body pressed into his, and the only sounds the rhythmic, snuffling snores of a crup at the foot of his bed and the even rise and fall of their chests, they lulled each other to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your kudos!


	14. December 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy (and Axel) visit Diagon Alley.

Pansy awoke with the feeling of Harry’s hand under her t-shirt, shifting up and down over the bumps of her spine.  The movements were smooth and careful, meant to soothe but not wake her, she guessed.  She twisted her head up to look at Harry.  “Hey.”

 

“Hi,” he returned.  

 

She could tell he meant to move his hand off of her back, so she quickly said, “No, it’s good.  It feels nice.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said, and resumed the movements of his hand on the skin of her back.  They lay in silence for several minutes as Pansy memorized the feel of his fingers on her skin, never straying from the path of her spine.

 

“I’m going to Diagon Alley today.  I’ve got to stop by Draco’s apothecary to pick up some lotions and oils he’s been working on for me,” Pansy said.

 

“Like the ones you use during your treatments?” Harry asked.

 

“Yes.  He’s been working on a formula to give a little extra help with my elderly patient’s sore joints, and another lotion I’d like to use during your treatments.”

 

“Oh, really?” Harry asked.  

 

“It’s going to be infused with a memory potion, if it works out.  Just something that will hopefully dull unpleasant memories for a short period of time, to allow for other types of therapeutic work to have more of an impact.”  
  
“Interesting.  Is this the first version he’s made for you?”

 

“No, I think this will be the ninth?  Tenth?  We’ve been collaborating on it for a while.  Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’ll go with me.”

 

“To Diagon Alley?  No, I’d rather not,” Harry said quickly.

 

“Why is that?  Is it the attention?  The pressure of being in public?”

 

Harry sighed.  “I mean...yeah.  Basically.”

 

“I really think it would be good for you to get out more, start easing your way back into normal life.”

 

“And you think going with you to Diagon Alley is the first step to me having a quote ‘normal’ life?” Harry asked skeptically.

 

“I think you know you need to start dealing with facing the public eventually, Harry.  It’s normal to be able to run errands, meet friends, go to appointments.  There’s nothing wrong with spending most of your time in muggle London.  I just don’t want you to keep cutting yourself off from people or places that you used to enjoy.”

 

“Maybe I enjoy different people now,” he said, adding a thumb to the fingers still dragging up and down her spine.

 

“And that’s fine,” Pansy said, pointedly not looking at Harry, not really letting herself consider his meaning.  “But it’s Monday, it’s early, Hogwarts is still in session.  It’s probably quieter than it will be the rest of the week.  And I was going to take Axel to the Magical Menagerie.”

 

“Well, if Axel is going...” Harry said.

 

“So you’ll come?” she asked brightly.

 

Harry sighed dramatically.  He took one final swipe down her spine and then brought his hand to brush the loose strands of her dark hair away from her face.  “Fine,” he said.  “Because you asked so nicely.  But I don't promise it won't piss me off.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it,” she said, and rolled her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Harry stood outside of Smithe’s Apothecary, taking in the scent of the greenery Draco had hung around the shop’s window.  Pansy had been untrusting of Axel’s ability to keep his wiggling rear from knocking into tables with glass jars and bottles, so Harry had volunteered to keep him outside while Pansy retrieved her package from Draco inside.  He held Axel’s leash and watched as the half-crup barked commentary at every person passing.  

 

“Rude, Axel,” Harry quipped after the crup let out a growling bark at a witch wearing extravagant silver robes lined with black fur.  “First paintings, now real people.  It's like you have no manners,” Harry said as he heard the bells on the apothecary’s door jangle.

 

Pansy bumped into Harry’s side.  “Hmm, just like someone else I know,” she told him.  “Draco says hello and asks you to owl him about flying again.  He said he wants to make you weep in defeat next time,” she told Harry as they started walking down the Alley, keeping pace with each other.

 

“Like that would happen,” Harry snorted.  “He said his eyes were watering from the cold last time, but I don't really believe him.  I think he was just sad I caught more snitches than he did.”

 

“Sure sounds like him.  I can take Axel’s lead, if you’d like,” Pansy said.

 

“No, I don't mind,” Harry told her as they passed the glittering display in the windows of Flourish and Blotts.  Axel started to pull them in the direction of a stall selling gingerbread and warm, roasted and sugared nuts.  “Come on, pup.  You know you can't have that stuff.”  Axel whined a bit and directed his expressive eyes towards Pansy.

 

“Not even a little bit,” she said.  “We’re going to the Menagerie to get you treats.”  They walked a few paces before Pansy said, “Not so bad so far, right?” as she looked up at Harry, struck by the brightness of the green of his eyes, reflecting the lights on the shops and stalls they passed.

 

He shrugged, brushed a hand through his hair, and twisted the loop at the end of the lead in his hand.  “No, it's been okay.”

 

Pansy subtly bumped her body into his.  “Just tell me if it isn't,” as Axel started to drag them towards the door of the shop.

 

“Now Ax,” Pansy said sternly, leaning down to face her crup.  “Behave.  If you don't, you won't get to come back.”  Axel wiggled in spite of himself, but nuzzled her hand to let her know he understood, and then followed Harry inside.

 

The Magical Menagerie was as crowded as it had been the first time Harry went in there as a boy, full of unusual creatures and tilting stacks of supplies.  Axel dragged them over to the section with cats and kneazels of many colors, and initiated a barking conversation met with an orchestra of hissing.  

 

“Sorry, Axel,” Pansy told him, nudging him away.  “Looks like you struck out with the felines of the store again.”  She led Harry and the crup over to the section with treats for him, and let Axel smell all of the boxes and packages lining the low shelves.  Axel used his stubby paws to knock a few items off the shelf, and then looked up at Pansy longingly.  

 

“All right,” she sighed, and gathered up Axel’s selections and brought them to the counter.

 

“Ms. Parkinson, Axel,” the storekeeper greeted them.  Axel barked a friendly greeting.  “Good to see you again.”  

 

“Hello, Mr. Tweddle,” Pansy said.

 

“Mr. Potter,” Tweddle said.  “Keeping different company now, I see,” he said as he used his wand to magically fill out the bill of sale.

 

Pansy’s back stiffened immediately as Harry shrunk back.  “What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Tweddle?” Pansy asked with her hand fisted on her jutted hip.

 

“Nothing, of course,” Mr. Tweddle replied.  “Just interesting that Mr. Potter here has barely been seen in public for months and now he turns up with you and your crup, and not with any of his devoted friends who have been at his side for years, like that Mr. Weasley, or the...muggleborn,” adding the boxes and bags Axel had selected to a sack embossed with the store’s logo.

 

“And what about me makes that interesting?” Pansy sneered.

 

“Not a thing, not a thing,” he replied obtusely.  “That will be three galleons, five sickles.”

 

Pansy pushed the coins across the counter.  “And I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” she huffed, taking the handles of the bag.  

 

“Good day, Ms. Parkinson, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Tweddle said, a curious look on his face, as Pansy led Harry and Axel from the shop.

 

“What an utter arsehole,” she said, as door jingled shut behind them.  “I don't know what he was fucking insinuating…” Pansy’s voice dropped off when she saw Harry turning in on himself in front her.

 

“Hey,” she said as she stepped in front of him to face him.  “Harry, are you okay?”  Pansy pulled Axel’s lead loose from Harry’s hands and threaded it over her wrist.  “For Merlin’s sake, sit, Axel,” she commanded and his rump dropped on the stone street.

 

She reached up and threaded her hands across the back of Harry’s neck, kneading gently and watching his face as he looked at the ground below.  

 

“Always a fucking comment about me, always an insinuation,” Harry mumbled.  “As if I owe that areshole anything.  I can't stand this,” he said, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.  “And fuck him for whatever he was trying to say about you.  Happy enough to take your money but still thinks he can say shite.  I should've…”

 

“Let me handle it.  I can handle myself,” Pansy told him, still working her hands across his neck, her forearms pressed against his chest.  “Seems like we've had quite enough of Diagon Alley for today.  We could drop Ax off and go get some lunch?  Curry?”

 

“Nah,” Harry said, shaking his head, pressing himself into her touch.  “Let's just go home.  I'll make soup.”

 

Pansy pulled her head back in surprise.  “You cook?” she asked, not letting go of his neck.  

 

“Yeah.  My aunt and uncle made me cook for them a lot growing up,” he told her, moving to rest his forehead against hers.  “Don't mind cooking, though.”

 

“Sounds like a story,” Pansy said.  “Maybe you could tell me while you make soup.”  She released her hands from his neck and threaded her fingers through his, letting Axel’s lead dangle between their connected hands.  

 

Harry squeezed her fingers.  “I'd like that,” he told her.  “Floo from the Leaky?”

 

“Yeah.  Tom complains about Axel every time but sneaks him bits of food anyway,” she told Harry, and he smiled, and they walked hand in hand towards the Leaky Cauldron.

 

Neither Harry nor Pansy had noticed the eyes, or the magical camera lens, tracking their movements in Diagon Alley, or the swirl of a figure apparating just after they'd passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say it every day, but thank you so much for reading and following and reviewing. I'm so pleased people seem to be enjoying this story!


	15. December 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy eat bacon and read the day's Prophet.

Pansy stood at the stove in Grimmauld’s kitchen watching the bacon she'd set to frying.   She didn't cook much, but frying up a rasher of bacon without incident was something she could handle.  She was waiting for Harry to come down and join her for breakfast; he’d gone to shower after Pansy left his bed for the kitchen.

 

She'd woken again in his arms, this time with him spooned behind her.  His body had been pressed fully against her, one arm cushioning her head and the other wrapped around her front, splayed at her hip.  As she'd drifted toward wakefulness, Harry’s fingers had traced her side, from the upper bones of her hip to the lower bones of her ribs and back down again.

 

Oh, how she wanted to will those fingers to explore further, to be bolder, to wind her up until she exploded.   _ You are his healer.  You are his healer.  Even though you sleep in his bed, you are his healer.   _ The refrain beat through her, even when she was barely awake, keeping her from suggesting, from pursuing, from thinking too much about what she wanted.  Inside her was a constant war of logic against want, of will against desire.

 

Their situation was so domestic, and both of them seemed to feel a gravitational pull towards the other.  It was easy for Pansy to forget why she was there in the first place but it didn’t stop her from wondering if she was exactly where she wanted to be, where she ought to be.

 

An owl tapped at the kitchen window, distracting Pansy from her reverie.  After opening the window, she dropped the coins to pay for the Daily Prophet into the leather pouch attached to the owl’s outstretched leg and took the newspaper.  She closed the window and set the Prophet on the table without unrolling it, and went to pull the bacon out of the pan.  

 

As she set their plates on the table, Harry entered, his wet locks laying limply across his shoulders.  He wore fresh clothes but had bare feet and a smug look on his face which Pansy felt straight in her stomach.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t cook,” Harry said, pulling out one of the chairs and settling himself at the table.

 

“I don’t cook well or often,” Pansy replied, “but I can handle bacon.”  She took her own seat, filling her mug with tea.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Harry insisted, handing her his own empty mug to fill.  “Thank you.  Any owls this morning?” he asked, before tucking into his breakfast.

 

“Just the Prophet,” Pansy said, gesturing to the paper still rolled further down the table.  “So, is it edible?” she asked him.

 

“Well, I haven’t died yet,” he teased with a smirk.  

 

“Arsehole,” Pansy insisted.

 

“Hey! You never know,” he said with a grin.  “This could be my last meal.”

 

“Fuck you, Harry,” Pansy said, while reaching over to grab the Prophet.  She used it to smack him upside the head.

 

“AAAAHHH,” Harry yelped dramatically, pulling the paper out of her hand to keep Pansy from hitting him.  “So violent, you are,” he told her, sitting back down.  “For that, I’m reading this first.”

 

“Be my guest,” she said, settling back to smirk into her tea.  

 

“Oh fuck,” Harry said, the color draining from his face.  “Oh, fuck.  Oh, fuck.  Oh, fuck.”

 

“What, what is it?” Pansy asked.  “Quidditch?”

 

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Harry responded, so she jumped from her chair to stand behind his back, mug still in hand.  

 

She leaned over him, pressing a hand on his shoulder.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“This,” he said as he displayed the front page of the Daily Prophet to Pansy.  Splayed across the newspaper were several photographs of them in Diagon Alley the day before, innocuous shots of Harry standing in front of Draco’s apothecary with Axel, the crup barking from the end of his lead, and of them entering the Magical Menagerie together.  Less innocent were moving images of Pansy threading her fingers through Harry’s as they smiled at each other, of them standing forehead to forehead with Pansy’s hands kneading on Harry’s neck.   _ Reclusive Potter Shagging Voldemort-Sympathizing Slytherin _ , the headline proclaimed.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Pansy said, as the mug she had been holding crashed to the floor and shattered.

 

The article accompanying the photographs was unsigned and relatively brief”

 

_ The reclusive Mr. Potter and the brash Ms. Parkinson were spotted together on Monday morning in Diagon Alley.  The pair, clearly familiar with each other and likely involved, made several stops before departing together via the Leaky Cauldron’s floo.  Mr. Tweddle, of the Magical Menagerie, said the pair spent several minutes in his shop with Ms. Parkinson’s half-crup and that the visit was routine except for, “the bizarre way that Ms. Parkinson came to Mr. Potter’s defense when the harpy thought I was insulting him.” _

 

_ Readers will remember from Rita Skeeter’s volume,  _ The Scandalous History of the Second Wizarding War,  _ that Ms. Parkinson attempted to give Mr. Potter up to the dark Lord Voldemort immediately prior to the final battle.  Mr. Potter’s whereabouts for much of the last year have been unknown as he has continued to recede into extremely private life after the final battle.  However, one wonders what Ms. Parkinson’s motives must be for manipulating her way into Mr. Potter’s life and for encouraging him to re-attend the public.  The Daily Prophet will continue to monitor the situation and will provide its readers with the timeliest of updates on their relationship. _

 

“Fuck them for writing such fucking drivel,” Pansy spat, before vanishing the mess of her shattered mug.  She began nervously pacing around the kitchen.  “I cannot fucking stand this fucking paper.  We went on a walk!  And now we’re shagging and I’m manipulating you and this is the biggest fucking pile of dragon dung I’ve ever fucking experienced.”

 

“Welcome to my world,” Harry said, arms crossed and shoulders slumped.  “I fucking knew I shouldn’t have gone,” he muttered before standing up and pushing away from the table.

 

“Harry, where are you going?” Pansy asked.

 

“My room.  I’ll see you later,” Harry said as he pushed through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More tomorrow! Thank you for reading!


	16. December 15th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another nightmare, another article, and lunch with their friends.

Harry woke screaming shortly after midnight with the first nightmare he'd had since Pansy had started to sleep in his bed.  His thrashing jolted her awake, but it only took a second for her to calm him by pressing his head to her breast.  She touched him.  She ran her fingers through his hair.  She swiped her thumbs against the tight muscles of his neck to relax them.  She imagined the tattoos on his skin and traced them in the dark.  

 

She touched him, and he calmed and stilled and breathed and whispered, “Pansy...I need you...please...mine...don't leave me...” until they both settled back to sleep.

* * *

 

The delivery owl for the Prophet tapped on the kitchen window again and Pansy groaned to herself.  “Wonder what fucking nonsense this will contain,” she mumbled as she paid for the paper and closed the window again, the owl sneering at her all the while.  She took the paper and two mugs on a tray and headed back to Harry’s room.  

 

He was laying there awake when she entered, but burrowed under the blankets so all she could see was his face.

 

“I brought tea,” she told him.  “And the paper came.”  Pansy set the tray on the table next to his bed, but grabbed the paper as she climbed back into his bed.

 

“Fuck!  Your feet are cold,” he accused, as she worked herself into his cocoon of blankets, but it didn't stop him from settling her back against his chest.  “I don't think I want to know,” he admitted, resting his forehead against the back of her head.  

 

“We’ll read it together,” she insisted.  “And whatever it says, it doesn't really fucking matter, Harry.”  Pansy moved to unroll the paper.

 

Harry exhaled as they saw Ron waving out to them from just under the headline, his arm around Oliver Wood.  “This quidditch exhibition game is out of hand,” Harry said.  “I never see Ron anymore and when I do, he's arm in arm with someone from the Cannons, either Blaise or Oliver.  Who knew it took so much work to put together a New Year’s charity game?”

 

“I have no idea.  Fucking quidditch,” she said.

 

“I can't believe you don't like quidditch,” Harry breathed into her hair.

 

“You don't see me complaining about watching fit people flying around in tight uniforms for multiple hours,” she told him, as she moved to look beneath the fold of the paper.  “It's just not the only thing I think about...fuck.”

 

Harry shifted to further hide his face in her hair.  “How bad?” he asked.

 

Pansy began to read.  “The Daily Prophet continues to investigate the purported relationship of Ms. Pansy Parkinson and Mr. Harry Potter.  The sheer volume of owls received in response to yesterday’s article indicate the importance of our investigations to the witches and wizards of the British Wizarding World, and we will do our best to be at the forefront of coverage of the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Lived to Betray Him.  Or, as sources claim, attempt to draw the chosen one into the practice of dark magic…”. Pansy bolted up and threw the paper off the bed, gasping as it was hit by a wandless incendio charm Harry had cast in its direction.  The moving figures in the paper’s photographs scrambled as the paper succumbed to the flames.  Both Harry and Pansy watched until the Prophet was nothing but a pile of ashes on Harry’s floor.

 

Harry tried to turn away, but Pansy captured him in her arms.  “Harry, I know you're upset.  This is fucking upsetting.”

 

“How the fuck can they keep printing this shite about you?  You didn't ask for this,” he told her, still holding himself stiffly in her embrace.

 

“I don't know.  I don't really fucking care, because I know and you know and, fuck, even Granger knows, that it's not the truth.  It's shite, especially for you, but don't let this trap you in this house, Harry.”  She didn't let go of him.

 

“No, don't ask me to go out again,” he pleaded, his voice full of fear and revulsion and strain.  “I won't fucking go.”

 

“Harry,” Pansy started, drawing on all of the patience she could summon.  “Granger and Theo are having lunch with Draco and Astoria.  They want us to be there.  Don't shut yourself off from your friends, Harry.”  She let him go, and maneuvered so she was over him on the bed.  “Turn over,” she insisted.

 

Harry sighed, but complied, knowing that her hands on his back, her touch, would ground him.

 

“I don't think that's a good idea,” he started.  “What if they print…”

 

“Fuck the Daily Prophet,” she spat.  “Fuck them and anyone who feels the need to comment on your fucking life.  You've given more than enough for this fucking world, Harry,” she said as her hands ran in broad strokes across his back.  “Anyone who doesn't fucking like it can fucking answer to me,” Pansy insisted.

 

Harry brought his head up and turned it to give her a slight glance.  “So, you're done commenting on my life as well?” he asked, the smallest smirk alerted her to the brightening, however temporary, of his outlook.

 

Pansy started, but realizing that he teased, she lightly smacked his shoulder over the phoenix tattoo with her hand.  “Nope.  Never,” she responded, becoming slightly distracted when the ink of the phoenix seemed to ripple on his skin.  She emitted a quiet “huh” before returning to her massage.

 

“Fine,” Harry acquiesced, placing his head back on the mattress.  “I'll go to lunch.”

 

“Good,” Pansy told him, eyes on the ink that had stilled, as if it had never moved, on his skin.

* * *

Harry and Pansy met the Malfoys and Hermione and Theo at a quiet cafe just off Diagon Alley.  Hermione pressed kisses to both their cheeks as they arrived and then quickly drew Pansy in the direction of the cafe’s restroom.

 

“Kinky,” Pansy said as Hermione pulled her by the arm through the door.  “Or are you going to vomit in front of me again?”

 

“Not now.  How is he, Pansy?  Did you get my owls?  It's just awful…”

 

“Yes, I got your owls and yes this fucking sucks,” Pansy admitted.  “You're lucky I convinced him to come to lunch,” arms crossed against her chest.

 

“I know,” Hermione said.  “How bad has this been for him?” she asked.

 

“Bad...he's started having nightmares again…”

 

“Wait, he stopped?  Pansy!  Why didn't you tell me!” Hermione screeched.

 

“It never came up.”

 

“But you're able to calm him?”

 

“Yes, the treatments are still working,” Pansy sighed.

 

Hermione shifted her focus away from Pansy’s face.  “Do you…” Hermione began.  “Would it help if Theo and I did what we could to get the press off Harry’s back?”

 

“And how would you manage that?” Pansy asked with a sharp brow spiked towards her forehead.

 

“We could make an announcement,” Hermione said, resting against the sink.

 

Pansy eyed Hermione’s oversized jumper.  “What, are you going to claim to be 

knocked up, Granger?”

 

“Whatever works,” Hermione said vaguely, shrugging.

 

“You fucking sound like Luna,” Pansy said.  “But no, I think we are fine.  I don't know what else they would have to say.”  She met Hermione's dark eyes.  “Thank you, though, Hermione.”

 

“You too.  I'm sorry you're being dragged into this,” Hermione admitted.  “Let's go eat.  I'm ravenous.”

* * *

Pansy and Hermione joined the rest of their party at their table as Draco was raising his water glass for a toast.  “To Harry, the ugliest mug to cover the Prophet, until today.  Where is that arsehole Weasley anyway?” Draco asked.

 

As laughter rang around them, Pansy slipped into the open chair next to Harry.  She settled into her seat and reached over to rest her hand against Harry’s thigh.  In a subtle move he shifted her hand over to thread his fingers into hers.  He squeezed, he caressed, he clung, and he did not let go until their lunch appeared in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and reviewing. Your thoughts mean SO FREAKING MUCH to me. ALSO! Disillusionist9 published an awesome drabble with a nod to this story (AAAHHHH)! See her story "Open Door" which is one of her Choose Dare - If You Dare Challenge Drabbles for a hint about what Ron is up to here...and then, while you're there, read more of her work because it is wonderful.


	17. December 16th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy have a drink.

Pansy returned from an appointment with a new patient that had run into the evening to find Harry and Axel sprawled on the floor of Grimmauld’s living room in front of the fireplace.  Axel was systematically deconstructing a giant bone while Harry was working his way through a bottle of wine.  The absence of a glass told Pansy he had probably been guzzling it directly from the bottle.

 

“Well, hasn’t this just turned into a den of iniquity,” Pansy drawled, catching the attention of both crup and man.  Axel eyed Pansy with a brief guilty look before giving her the canine equivalent of a shrug, and resuming his chewing on the bone again with gusto.  She set her bag on the edge of one of the sofas and moved to join Harry on the floor.  “Did something happen?” Pansy asked.

 

Harry pushed the opened bottle of wine along the rug towards Pansy before sitting up himself.  “Hagrid came to visit,” he said with a hiccup.  

 

“Oh,” Pansy said, pulling the bottle to her lips.  The sweet wine tasted of cranberries.  “Mmm, good,” she said of the wine.  “How was his visit?”

 

“He'd seen the paper and wanted to bring Axel a bone,” Harry said, taking the bottle back for a swig of his own before gesturing with the bottle. “Thought we might want something to take our minds off the Prophet.  There's more too,” Harry gestured off to the side of the rug, where five unopened bottles were lined up on the wood floor.  “He forgets not everyone has his size or his tolerance,” Harry chuckled.  

 

Pansy took another swig.  “How are you feeling?” she asked Harry, reaching out to brush the hair out of his eyes.

 

“Fine, I guess,” he told her.  “Buzzed.  Better now that you're here,” he said as he swiped the bottle from her hand.  Pansy thought she noticed a reddening of his cheeks, but told herself it was the wine and the fire behind the color.

 

“Hey!  If you're buzzed then I need to catch up,” she said, and Harry leaned over to grab one of the unopened bottles.  He wandlessly slid the cork out of the top and presented her with the bottle.

 

“Drink up,” he told her.

 

She did, and they sat on the floor in silence while she started on her own bottle, with the sounds of Axel crunching his bone in the background.

 

“You should get a Christmas tree,” Pansy told Harry, who sighed and lay back on the rug.

 

“Yeah, probably,” he replied, scooting over to rest his head in Pansy’s lap.  “Sirius had a tree in the kitchen the Christmas we spent here with him,” he remembered.  “It was covered with enchanted snow.”

 

Pansy took a generous swig of sweet wine as she accepted the weight of him in her lap.  She let her fingers weave their way into his hair, stroking them gently through the length of the dark strands.  He pressed his face closer into the warmth of her thigh as her fingers moved to follow the shape of the lightning bolt on his forehead.

 

“You still miss him desperately, don't you?” she asked as his eyes slipped closed and her fingers traced across the planes of his face.  

 

“He was really the closest thing to a father I can remember,” he told her, reaching out for his wine bottle.

 

Pansy swallowed from her own bottle and then let her fingers slip inside the collar of his shirt to trace the top of the runes he had tattooed on his chest.  “He's still with you, Harry,” she told him, and he brought his hand up to hold hers to his skin.  He didn't speak.

 

After a long, quiet moment, Harry shifted to drink from his bottle, and then let his head fall back in Pansy’s lap as she moved to drink.

 

“What about you?” he asked, looking up at her with hooded eyes that sparkled in the firelight.  

 

“What about me?” she responded.  Harry reached up to touch his hand to her face.

 

“Any ghosts haunting you?”  His fingers brushed against the apple of her cheek.

 

“Not more than haunt any of us who lived through the war,” she deflected, and moved to bring her wine bottle to her lips.  She tilted her head in thought, unwittingly pressing it closer into Harry’s hand.  “My parents are disappointed in me.”

 

Harry dropped his hand and shifted to sit up, to face her.  “What?  How?” he asked.  “You're a brilliant, innovative healer.”

 

“Who's not married to a proper pureblood, raising one or two heirs in a grand manor, spending my time shopping, hosting society luncheons, organizing the household help, turning a blind eye to my husband’s dalliances, and never letting the word ‘fuck’ pass my lips.”

 

“Fuck that,” Harry said.  “That's not you at all.”

 

“Fuck yes!” Pansy said, before pausing.  “I think it's hard for them to adjust the expectations they had for me from the beginning.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry responded, turning again to his wine as Pansy did the same.

 

“Well, their fucking loss.  They are spending the holidays in Majorca this year.  And I'm here with you,” she said.

 

“Don't sound so happy about it,” Harry barbed, swigging from his wine bottle again.

 

“But I am, actually,” she admitted, looking away from Harry, slipping her nail under the paper label on the wine bottle.  “You need a fucking Christmas tree, though,” she said, gesturing wildly with the bottle in her hand.  “A giant fucking Christmas tree with enchanted lights and snow and stunned pixies and like a fucking glowing star on the top.”

 

Harry swallowed more wine, and then peered down into the bottle.  “Ugh, I think I’m out,” he said as he reached over to grab another bottle.  “And fuck yes, let’s get a tree.  Let’s get a fucking huge tree tomorrow,” he told her, and began to sing “God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs” while uncorking his new bottle.

 

Pansy laughed and laughed at Harry’s singing, the sound accompanied by the sound of Axel’s snores as he slept with his head possessively resting on his bone.  They sat pressed next to each other, watching the fire, drinking from their bottles of wine as Harry barked out the words to the song.  When he reached the end, Pansy rested her head on his shoulder and took another long drink of wine.  

 

“Mmmm...I’m out now, too,” Pansy told him.  

 

“You’re quick to catch up, aren’t you?” Harry teased.  He took her empty bottle and set it aside, handing her the one he’d been drinking out of.  Pansy took another drink and then handed the bottle back to him.  Harry set it aside on the rug, and turned to face her.  The flickering firelight cast shadows across their skin and he threaded his fingers into the loose waves of her hair.  Harry leaned over to press his lips at the juncture of her jaw and the spot right below her earlobe.  Pansy gasped.

 

Harry settled his head on her shoulder, and said with his lips still grazing her skin, “Were you always this beautiful?  I feel like I should’ve noticed a long time ago.”  He slipped his tongue from between his lips to taste her, ever so briefly.  “Why didn’t I?”

 

Pansy tried desperately to catch her breath.  “Probably because I was telling you to fuck off at every opportunity.”

 

Harry’s teeth joined in the exploration of Pansy’s neck.  The nip on her skin felt electric.  It felt like magic.  “I thought you would’ve noticed how much I liked that by now,” he whispered into her ear.  A noise, somewhere between a moan and a groan, escaped from Pansy.  Axel started behind them, but quickly fell back to snoring.

 

Lips marking a trail down Pansy’s throat, Harry pleaded into her skin.  “Pansy, can I kiss you?” he asked as her head fell back, the dark waves of her hair trailing down her back.  “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

 

She sighed, and snapped her head upright.  “Oh, Merlin, Harry.  Fucking hell.  I’m your healer,” she remembered.  “Fuck me,” she spat, and moved away from him.

 

He mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “I’m trying,” but she couldn’t be sure what she’d heard.

 

Pansy stood, fisting her hands on her hips.  “Harry, find a fucking mind healer.  Soon.  Fuck.  Please.  I am your fucking healer now, your only healer.  Nothing can fucking happen while I’m your healer.”

 

Harry stood, moving in on her, placing his hands on her hips, folding his fingers into the waist of her trousers.  “I get it,” he said into the skin of her neck.  “No, I get it.  I’m sorry.  I just…”

 

“I know,” she said.  “Me too.”  Pansy moved to step away.  “I’m going to go get ready for bed, find some sober up for the morning in case we need it.”  She jostled Axel’s bone out from under his head.  “Come on, pup,” she told him, and he released a sleepy yawn before stretching dramatically and following Pansy out of the room, leaving Harry to extinguish the fire.

* * *

 

Harry was already under the blankets when Pansy made her way into his room.  He blinked at her sleepily before pulling back the covers and gesturing for her to join him.

 

“What about your treatment?” she asked as she climbed into the bed, pausing to pull off her socks.

 

“Not tonight,” he told her as she settled into his arms.  “Just need you here.”  Pansy felt the arm around her shoulders fall away as he reached out to wandlessly extinguish the light on the bedside table.  His hand returned to brush away the hair from her neck and was quickly followed by his lips ghosting across her skin.

 

“Harry,” she whispered, reluctance thickening her voice.

 

“I know, I know,” he told her.  “I won’t.  Just…” and his hands crept under the hem of her t-shirt.  He traced the bumps of her spine, her ribs, the line from the valley of her throat to her navel, careful to keep his fingers from brushing the more intimate parts of her as he transversed her skin.

 

“You are fucking impossible,” she breathed.  “What are you doing to me?”

 

“Hopefully making you half as crazy as you make me,” he said again against her neck.  His hand settled low on her belly as he pulled her hips back into his to spoon her.

 

“Fucking Merlin,” Pansy cursed, and she could feel a smile come to Harry’s lips on her skin.

 

“The name’s Harry,” Harry joked, and Pansy pushed at him with her elbow.

 

“Arsehole,” she said, as he settled a hand on her belly and a hand across her collarbone, resting her head on his shoulder.

  
“Let’s go to sleep, witch,” he said, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead.  Lulled by the wine he’d consumed and by the comfort of having Pansy in his arms, Harry quickly fell asleep, Pansy shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to follow along with this little story that keeps falling from my brain.


	18. December 17th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Daily Prophet's opinion of the situation changes. Harry has another nightmare.

_ Healer Parkinson Attempts to Fix the Boy Who Lived? _

 

_ In a surprising turn, new information has become available about the nature of the relationship between Ms. Pansy Parkinson and Mr. Harry Potter.  While many believe their interactions are romantic in nature, we at the Prophet now believe that Mr. Potter is utilizing Ms. Parkinson as his personal healer.  Ms. Parkinson, who is known as a healer specializing in treatment of trauma and recovery from traumatic incidents,  may have taken on Mr. Potter as a new patient.  Mr. Potter unquestionably experienced trauma during the throes of the Second Wizarding War, as he defeated the dark Lord Voldemort.  The question remains, what issues Mr. Potter is seeking assistance for at this time, if he may be suffering from an addiction to a substance, excessive violence or abuse towards others, or suffering some sort of other mental consequence of the war. _

 

_ It also remains to be seen if Ms. Parkinson’s interactions with her patient are inappropriate, or if she does have any darker motives in assisting the Boy Who Lived.  We also wonder if Mr. Potter’s issues may be encouraging him to take a dark turn of his own.  The staff of the Daily Prophet will continue to monitor the situation and will report the latest as it becomes available.  Any tips on the situation may be owled to the newspaper for consideration and further investigation. _

 

Pansy threw the morning’s Daily Prophet at Harry and hissed.  “I cannot fucking believe this!” she growled.  After the previous day passed with no coverage of their purported relationship, Pansy had assumed that the worst had passed.  Harry picked up the paper from where it had dropped on the kitchen table and scanned the article as Pansy stood there, seething in his direction.  Harry pushed his chair back from the table at such a force it crashed backwards to the floor.

 

“How did they fucking find out?” he roared, throwing the paper down on the table.  “Who could’ve told?  How did...was it Draco?  Would Draco have told them?”

 

“Fuck you, that’s absurd!” Pansy screamed.  “Draco would never do that to you, let alone me.  What the fuck, Harry.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he told her, running a hand through his hair, still damp after his morning shower.  “It’s just...they know, Pansy.  Someone had to tell.”

 

“Read it again,” she said, and sighed.  “They don’t actually know anything.  They are speculating, it’s all guesses and conjecture.  But fuck, this is awful.”

 

“Maybe I should just leave.  Join your parents in fucking Majorca or something,” Harry said, dropping into the chair next to the one he’d knocked over and resting his head in his hands.  

 

Pansy crossed the kitchen to stand next to him, gently shifting him on his chair so she could step between his legs.  She pulled his head toward her and hugged him; after a moment, his arms raised to return her embrace.  “You can,” she said, “if you want to.”  Her hug tightened.  “But I don’t think you really want to.”

 

“No,” he told her, nuzzling his head into her middle.  “If I wanted to go, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

 

Pansy’s hands found his hair.  “We could tell them we’re together.  I mean, it’s…”

“No, I don’t want to do that,” Harry said.  “Not because it’s you, but because I don’t want to fucking tell them anything.”

 

They held onto each other for several silent minutes until an interruption came in the form of an owl’s tap at the window.  Pansy let go of Harry and went to collect the letter.  “That’s Theo’s owl,” she said, as she opened the window.  She slipped the small roll of parchment from the owl and handed it a treat from the basket nearby.  It sat on the open windowsill, clearly awaiting a reply to take back to Theo or Hermione.

 

Pansy unrolled the parchment and found a note in Hermione’s handwriting, uncharacteristically messy, written in ball point pen.

 

_ Harry, and Pansy too,  _ Pansy began to read aloud, as Harry came to read over her shoulder.

 

_ I’m sorry this Prophet thing has gotten even more shite.  I didn’t think it was possible.  Too bad Rita Skeeter is no longer on staff, otherwise this would’ve been handled several days ago. _

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pansy interrupted her reading to ask Harry.  

 

“A long story.  Goes back to the Triwizard Tournament and involves a glass jar.  I’ll tell you later,” Harry told her.  “Keep reading.”

 

_ Theo and I talked and have agreed to release some news tomorrow that will hopefully distract from the situation the Prophet has created for you.  We’ll stop by in the morning to fill you in in person; don’t read of the rubbish they print until then.  I’d rather you hear the full story from us. _

 

_ Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do.  Much love, Hermione. _

 

“Wow,” Harry said.  “I can’t believe she’s going to say something about…”

 

Pansy nodded.  “She loves you,” she said, leaning back against Harry.

 

“She’s my sister,” Harry agreed.  “I’ll write her a note,” he said, moving to find a quill or a pen in one of the drawers.

 

“Do you want me to cancel my appointments for today?  It’s no trouble, if you want me to stay here,” Pansy asked.

 

“No,” he told her, meeting her eyes from across the kitchen.  “I’ll be okay.  I don’t want to keep you from helping others who need it, too.”

 

Pansy smiled at Harry.  “I’m going to incendio every copy of the Prophet I see today.”

 

“Fuck yes, you are,” he said, managing a small smile in her direction.  “Axel and I will see you when you get home.”

* * *

 

Harry screamed and jostled Pansy awake.  She sat up and immediately began touching him on the arms and chest, doing what she could to soothe him.  “Shhhh, Harry, you're okay.  I'm right here.  Shhhh.”

 

“NO!  YOU CANNOT TAKE HER FROM ME!  You have taken everyone else, you cannot take her too,” Harry yelled as he thrashed.

 

“Harry!” she called, louder.  “Harry, I'm right here with you, just me.  It's okay.”  She moved to turn on the lamp next to the bed.

 

“PANSY!!  No, don't take her, you can't take her,” he chanted, pained, eyes pinched closed and head shaking back and forth.

 

“Harry, shhhh, I'm right here.  We are okay,” she asserted.  “Harry, stay with me,” she told him, moving her hands to touch his face.

 

“No, don't take her!  You can't take her!” he screamed louder, struggling to free himself from her hands.  He sounded near tears, though his eyes were still clenched.

 

Pansy’s methods for waking him out of a nightmare had never been this ineffective.  Her touch, her voice, had always been enough to pull him out of it, relatively quickly.  After long minutes of calming words and soothing strokes of her hands, her frustration and fear grew, coursing through her limbs.

 

“Damn it, Harry, wake up!  Wake up!” she nearly shouted at him, shaking his shoulders.  “Harry, I'm here!  I'm not going anywhere,” but the sound of her words were drowned out by the sounds of the sobs that were racking his chest, his pleas to some unnamed force to return her to him.

 

“No, Harry, I'm right here,” she asserted, touching his face, smoothing his hair, pressing on his chest as she straddled him at his waist.  He bucked up under her as he tried to twist away and she fell forward, caught by hands that fell on either side of his head.  The only thought in Pansy’s head urged her to press her lips to his, and she did in a soft touch that didn't last for more than a few heartbeats.  

 

It was enough.  

 

Harry tasted of salt and fear and as she pulled her lips away he stilled, eyes fluttering open to meet hers, tear tracks running shiny trails down his face.

 

“You're here,” he said, his voice quiet and scratchy in the wake of his screams and sobs.

 

“Of course,” she told him, making no move to remove herself from him.  Her fingers slid up through his hair to smooth the sweaty locks that were plastered to his skin.

 

“I really thought they had you, that you had…” he trailed off as his hands moved up to swipe at the wetness in the corners of her eyes.

 

“No, Harry.  I'm here.  I'm with you,” she said simply.

 

He brought his hands to his sides to push himself up towards her, crushing his lips into hers.  Pansy’s arms wrapped around his back to clung to him while their tongues danced.  

 

Eventually they broke apart and looked at each other with wide, tired eyes.  Harry rested his hands on her hips, digging his fingers into her skin.  “You…” he started to say, but trailed off as Pansy’s lips returned to his.  

 

After a moment, Harry brought his lips to the spot by Pansy’s ear he’d kissed the day before.  “I knew if I started kissing you I'd never want to stop,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.  “Please don't make me stop.”

 

“You don't have to stop,” Pansy whispered back to him.  She pecked two quick kisses to his lips, before Harry deepened the third and she soaked in the feeling of being held to him, of his hands pulling her arse towards him, the scratch of his stubble on her face.  With a sigh she turned her lips away from his, bringing her arms up to rest on his shoulders.  “But we should probably sleep,” she said.  “It's half three, yesterday was…”

 

“Awful,” he returned.  “But this is…”

 

“Magic,” Pansy said, before kissing him again.  

 

Axel let out a canine sigh from the end of the bed.  He was staring at them with unblinking, grumpy eyes.  He raised a single eyebrow before tucking his face beneath a paw.

 

“What's wrong with him?” Harry asked.

 

“He's a prude,” Pansy said, before reaching over to extinguish the lamp.

  
“Huh,” Harry said, drawing Pansy into his arms once again.  Lips met, for a second, and then more, before Pansy broke away to rest her head over Harry’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your kudos and comments! Thanks especially to disillusionist9 for her alpha reading on this chapter!


	19. December 18th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Theo come for breakfast. Pansy has a surprise for Harry.

Pansy woke with Harry trailing kisses on her neck, still spooned into him.  She grinned and shifted in his arms to press her mouth with his.  Their kiss was languid, lazy and sweet and went on and on.  When Pansy eventually pulled back, she covered Harry’s hand on her hip with her own.  She bit her lip, looking for the right words.

 

“You told me I didn't have to stop kissing you,” he told her, brows knit in worry.

 

“You don't,” she said, bringing her other hand to brush the hair from his forehead.  “But as long as I'm your healer...nothing else.”

 

Harry met her lips again, slipping his hands under the soft jersey of her t-shirt to trace his fingers on her bare skin.  “I know,” he said, thumbs edging towards the undersides of her breasts.  “That’s the right thing to do,” he said, memorizing the wideness of her eyes as she anticipated the next movements of his thumbs.  “I want…” he breathed.

 

“I know.  Me too,” she said, gasping as his thumbs grazed the fullness of her breasts before pulling his hands away.  He returned his lips to hers.  “Find another healer, Harry,” she said against them, before losing herself in the kiss.

* * *

 

Hermione and Theo stepped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld, and Hermione rushed over to crush Harry to her in an enormous hug.

 

“Oh, Harry,” she said as she clung to him.

 

Harry patted her on the back as the hug went on and on, Theo and Pansy watching their embrace with amusement.  “Okay, thanks, Hermione,” Harry said.  “I'm fine.  You can let go now.”

 

Hermione pulled away with great reluctance.  “Are you sure?” she asked, pulling the knit cap off her head, revealing her riotous curls.

 

“He's sure,” Pansy said, moving to take Theo’s coat.  

 

“Pansy,” Hermione said, moving to kiss Pansy’s cheeks.  “I'm sorry about all of this.”

 

“You didn't do anything, Granger,” Pansy deflected.  “I'll take your coat.  We've got breakfast in the kitchen,” she told them.  

 

Hermione pulled off her coat, revealing a form-fitting knit dress which hugged her expanded waistline.

 

“I was right, you are knocked up,” Pansy said, eyes passing from Hermione to Theo, before settling on a wildly grinning Harry.  “Come on, Uncle Harry,” Pansy said as she pulled on his arm, leading them to the kitchen.  “Let's go eat and hear the whole story.”

* * *

 

When they were all seated, Pansy took a croissant from the basket in front of her, then handed it to Theo.  “So…” Pansy said.

 

Theo took a pastry of his own and then passed the basket on.  “You remember when Hermione and I went to Australia earlier this year?” he asked.  Pansy nodded as she moved for the butter.  “We found Hermione’s parents, now Monica and Wendell Wilkins, living happily near the beach.”

 

“We told you, Harry, how we made friends with them during our visit, how we kept running into them at restaurants and shops and by wandering past their house on walks.  They seemed charmed by us, the vacationing young British couple.  We dined with them a few times and as much as it hurt to spend time with them not knowing who I was,” Hermione said, fidgeting with her fork, “it was really lovely to be able to see them happy, and settled, and to be with them.”

 

Theo took her hand.  “They asked us one night at dinner what our plans were, if we planned to marry eventually, and it sort of slipped out,” Theo said.  “I told them we’d gone on the trip to elope.”

 

“My mum’s,” Hermione hesitated, “Monica’s eyes lit up and told us they would be pleased to be our witnesses if we wanted them to be, and I couldn't say no.”  She leaned into Theo.

 

“We had only been together a few months at that point, you know,” Theo said, draping his arm around Hermione, “but even at that point we were fairly sure…”

 

“Theo felt like coming home to me,” Hermione said.  “And when my mum asked, it just felt right.  So we eloped,” she grinned.  

 

Pansy grinned back at them, and Harry glowed.  “I'm really so thrilled for you,” she said.  “But why didn't you say anything?” she asked.  “Theo, Draco and Greg and I, and Millie, and everyone would've been so happy for you.”

 

“My father…” Theo started.

 

“Is in Azkaban,” Pansy said.  

 

“Isn't going to take this well,” Theo returned.  “I wanted, we wanted, some time to get our affairs in line should he decide to disinherit me.”

 

“But he's in Azkaban,” Harry said, dimming slightly.  “I'm fairly certain that removes his right to run the Nott estate.”

 

Theo sighed.  “It does, and it doesn't.  There's complicated blood magic involved with the Manor and…” he shrugged.  “Pureblood shite.”

 

Hermione said, “We waited long enough to tell everyone that eventually it just made sense to keep waiting.  And then I got pregnant.”

 

“There's something to be said to not have the whole world know your business,” Theo said.  “No offense, Harry.”

 

“No, it's fine,” Harry said, reaching across the table to touch Hermione's hand.  “And you don't know what it means that you're willing to put yourselves out there to get attention off of me.”

 

“Harry, it's nothing,” Hermione replied.

 

“It's not,” Pansy said.  “Thank you.”

 

“There's something I wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione said to Pansy.  “Theo and I decided to give Witch Weekly an exclusive interview.”

 

“Fuck the Prophet,” Theo and Pansy said in unison, grinning at each other.

 

“But I don't see what that has to do with me,” Pansy said, taking another bite of flaky croissant.

 

“They agreed to donate the fee from our interview to a charity of our choice,” Hermione said, grabbing her mug.

 

“That's great...but I still don't understand,” Pansy told her.

 

Theo cleared his throat.  “Pansy, we wanted to offer you the money for your treatment facility.”

 

“What?” she asked.  “You would...why?”  Harry moved to put his arm around her, causing Hermione’s eyebrow to raise.

 

“Because you're brilliant,” Harry told her.  “And you're going to help so many people,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.  

 

“Harry’s right, Pansy,” Hermione said.  “Theo and I have seen the amazing work you do, not just with Harry but with what you've done for Draco too, and others…”

 

“We’d like to be a part of you getting the facility off the ground,” Theo told her.  

 

Pansy shifted to rest her back on Harry.  “I don't know what to say.  This is...thank you, Theo.  Hermione.  Just, thank you,” she said, with a wide smile.

 

“I'm happy more good is coming out of this mess,” Hermione said.  “And if that wasn't enough, we have more news to share with you, too.”  She raised her mug.  “To Theo, who just sold his first book to a muggle publisher!”

 

Harry and Pansy joined in the toast.  “To Theo!”  

 

“A muggle publisher?” Pansy asked after sipping her tea, curious.

 

“They call the genre ‘fantasy,’” Theo told them.  “Not the first time a Wizarding book has crossed over,” he said.  “But they are expecting it to do well.”

 

“That's fantastic,” Harry said.  “I can see it doing well with muggles.  I really enjoyed it.”

 

“Thanks,” Theo said.  “I'm a little nervous for the book tour, and the muggle plane they've having me fly on to America, but I'll manage.”

 

“When do you leave?” Pansy asked.  

 

“Not until after the new year, but I want to go as soon as I can.  The closer we get to March, the less I want to be away,” Theo said, running a hand over Hermione’s belly.

 

“Understandable.  But don't worry,” Harry smirked.  “Uncle Harry will be here to take care of them while you're gone.”

 

“You're going to milk this uncle thing for as much as it's worth, aren't you?” Pansy asked him.

 

“You should be thankful,” Harry told her.  “Hermione telling me about baby Granger-Nott was about the only thing that would've inspired my grudging initial cooperation with you.”

 

Pansy nudged him.  “Grudging is right, you arse.”  She turned to Hermione.  “Have you told Weasley yet?” she asked.

 

Hermione sighed and twisted her mug on the table.  “No, not yet.  Not really looking forward to it, to be honest.”

 

“You should probably tell him soon, Hermione.  Especially with whatever the Prophet printed about you today,” Harry told her, arm snaking around Pansy’s waist as she leaned into him.

 

“I know, I know,” Hermione said, and then chuckled.  “You'd think Ron would be the one you could go to to have a scandal released, instead of me.  He’s always liked the limelight.”

 

Pansy nodded.  “He sure seems to be in the paper whenever he can manage it, with Blaise and Wood lately.”

 

“Right,” Harry said.  

 

Hermione watched Harry and Pansy for a moment, as she continued to rest against him.

 

“Has something happened?” Hermione asked, gesturing between the two of them.

 

Harry shrugged, but tightened his arms around Pansy.  “It is what it is, Granger,” Pansy deflected.  

 

“That's Granger-Nott to you, Parkinson,” Hermione said as they grinned at each other.

* * *

 

Pansy returned from an appointment that evening so quietly that Harry didn't notice.  A short while later she shouted up the stairs to Harry to come join her in the living room.  

 

“When did you get home?  What are you screaming about?” he asked, coming down the stairs with a scampering Axel following closely behind.  Pansy met him at the door to the living room.  

 

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, leaning up to brush her lips against his.  “We got so distracted by the stuff in the paper and everything, we never went and got…” Pansy trailed off as she opened the door.  

 

A huge tree sat in the corner of the living room by the fireplace, covered in enchanted snow and lit with glittering, enchanted lights.  

 

Harry brushed past her to walk further into the room.  “Pansy…” he said, making his way to the tree.  He reached out to a branch, running his fingers through the cold snow before turning his palm up to catch some of the flakes that were falling from the ceiling.  “Pansy,” he said again, turning to grasp her into a hug before lifting her up.  She wrapped her legs around his arse.  Harry’s lips crushed hers in an emotional, passionate kiss that made him stagger backwards, crashing into one of the sofas.  He fell onto the couch and Pansy came with him, never breaking their breathless kiss.  

 

Eventually she slipped her lips over to press a kiss to his earlobe, before pulling it between her teeth.  Harry’s hands trailed her body before resting on her arse, his hands slipping into the back pockets of her trousers.  She pulled her head back, her dark eyes burning into Harry’s.  “You like it, I take it.”

 

“So much,” he said, threading a loose lock of hair behind her ear.  “Almost as much as I like you.”

 

Pansy groaned.  “Cheesy,” she said.  “But I'm so glad,” she said, moving to kiss him again.  And again.  And again, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth.  She moved to sit up, kneeling on the other side of the sofa.  “I'm going to grab a sandwich.  And then I'm going to take a shower,” she told Harry.  “It's going to be a very cold shower,” she said, looking at Harry through long, dark lashes.  “And then I'll meet you in your room for your treatment?”

 

Harry groaned and let his head fall back onto the sofa.  “I've got to find a mind healer.  As soon as fucking possible.”

 

“You really, really do,” Pansy said, swinging her hips as she left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I owe a debt of gratitude to disillusionist9, for her assistance in helping me plot out what exactly Hermione and Theo were up to in this story. Thank you so much for reading, and your comments and kudos. You are a warm cup of cocoa on a very, very cold day (8f/-13c).


	20. December 19th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron comes to visit.

“I was thinking,” Pansy said, as she cast the spell to light the lamps throughout Grimmauld Place from the main hallway, “we could go out tonight.”

 

“Where?” Harry asked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed against his chest.

 

“Oh, somewhere muggle,” Pansy suggested.  “Maybe Oxford Street to look at the lights?”

 

Harry sauntered over, invading her space, walking her backwards into the wall.  His lips met hers in a kiss that started sweet and shortly turned electric.  

 

When they broke apart several minutes later, Pansy sighed, brushing her fingers against her well-snogged lips.  “Yes, we are definitely going out tonight.”

 

Harry smirked.  “Sure about that?” he asked as he rested his hands on the wall on either side of her head.

 

“Harry!  Harry, where are you?” Ron called from the other room as he emerged from the floo.

 

Harry met Pansy’s lips in a quick peck and then yelled, “hallway, Ron!” as Pansy smoothed her hair.

 

“Oi, Harry, right shite going on, isn't it?” Ron said, coming out of the living room doorway.  “Hello, Parkinson.”

 

“Weasley,” Pansy greeted him.  “And to think I was hoping I'd stay lucky and not have to see you all month.”

 

“Hey!” he cried.  “And what the fuck is going on between the two of you?  What the fuck is up with your treatments?  I told Hermione this was a bad fucking idea.”  Ron spat.  “What's this I read about dark magic?”  He looked accusingly at Pansy.

 

“Fuck you--” Pansy yelled.

 

“Ron, stop.  Pansy, I'll talk to him…” Harry interceded.

 

“Good luck, Harry,” Pansy said, patting him on the shoulder.  “This arse has always liked what the Prophet has to say.”

 

“You're still a bitch, Parkinson,” Ron told her.

 

“Ron!  Kitchen, now,” Harry said, pushing Ron towards the swinging door.  Once they were through, Pansy installed herself against the door frame on the hallway side.  Ron’s riling her up removed any guilt she had over eavesdropping on their conversation.   _ Slytherin _ , Pansy thought to herself with a wry grin, before bringing her ear to the door to listen.

 

“What the fuck, Harry.”

 

“Ron...you've only read the papers, you don't know what's been going on,” Harry said.  “You've been so busy…”

 

“Damn right I've been busy,” Ron asserted.  “But don't change the subject, Harry.  What has she been doing to you?”

 

“Nothing!” Harry roared.  “Helping me!  Getting me off dreamless sleep!  And as you were part of Hermione’s plan to hire her in the first place, I would’ve expected you to know that!”

 

“I’m not sure she should be trusted,” Ron said as Pansy balled her fists.

 

“Well, I fucking trust her.  And I don’t see why you don’t trust me more than the fucking Daily Prophet,” Harry returned, and Pansy pulled her fingernails back from the palms of her hands, a minute relaxation.  He trusted her.

 

“How do I know you’re not…”

 

“What, brainwashed?  Ron, seriously.  I’m not defending Pansy to you any more.  Accept that she’s here, that she’s helping me, or go back to planning your fucking quidditch match and leave us alone.”

 

“So that’s how it is,” Ron said, and Pansy could imagine the haughty and defiant way he’d be glaring at Harry.  

“Ron,” Harry said, his voice falling so much Pansy had to strain to hear him.  “Pansy is...helping me.  She’s here.  She’s amazing.  I hate what the Prophet has been publishing so much but I don’t care, because I know, I know that she’s important to me.  It’s not going to change anything, especially the way I feel about her.  I’m finally moving on from the war and all of the old shite.  Maybe it’s time you do, too.”

 

Pansy pressed her fingers to her mouth, touched by Harry’s words.  She could hear Ron’s sigh easily through the door, the sound of chair legs scraping against the wood floors.  “I know, I’m sorry, Harry.  I’m under a lot of pressure…”

 

She imagined Harry sitting opposite Ron at the table.  “And it’s getting to you,” Harry said, before pausing.  “I’ve been flying with Draco, too.”

 

Ron sounded dazed.  “Have you really?  What’s this world coming to...you hanging out with a ferret, Hermione knocked up by a snake.”

 

“Hey!  Theo is a great guy,” Harry insisted.

 

“Who knocked her up out of wedlock,” Ron snapped.  “I can hardly believe it.”

 

“Talk to Hermione,” Harry said.  “It’s not my story to tell, and it’s not what the Prophet is reporting, either.”

 

“Spending time with all those snakes has changed her,” Ron sighed.  

 

“It hasn’t, and you’re one to talk,” Harry said, “I see you with Blaise all the time, at caroling, in the papers.”

 

“He’s different,” Ron insisted.

 

“Uh-huh.  Sure he is,” Harry said, and Pansy knew the smirk that would be gracing Harry’s face simply by his tone.  “Hermione made a good joke yesterday.”

 

“See?  Makes my point,” Ron said.

 

“She said that it was funny I went to her to deflect attention from me, when you love the limelight so much.  You could’ve had your own scandal,” Harry said with a chuckle.

 

“Why? What have you heard?” Ron asked, in a tone that came across as nervous to Pansy as she listened through the door.  

 

“Nothing, mate.  Just Hermione's joke.”  

 

“Good.  That's good,” Ron said.  “Very good.  I should be going back to the office,” he told Harry, and Pansy used it as her cue to step quietly away from the door and move to rush up the stairs.  

 

“Oh, Axel, there you are!” she said louder than she probably needed to to mask her eavesdropping.  Axel was napping on the stair landing, under what had become his favorite portrait of a generations old Black ancestor who was almost always eating, body pressed so his fur stuck out between the balusters.

 

Ron and Harry emerged from the kitchen and Ron nodded a tense goodbye up at her from below as Harry led him back to the floo.  When Harry returned a minute later, he climbed the stairs two by two to the landing, resuming the position they’d been in when Ron had interrupted before.  Pansy reached up and pulled his head to hers, crushing their lips together in a soaring kiss.  Her hands slipped under Harry’s t-shirt to explore his back before digging her nails in, in a move designed to pull him closer to her.

 

“Well, I never,” the Black ancestor called from his painting, upset by the display of affection taking place in front of him.  Hearing his friend speak woke Axel, who resumed barking a conversation at the painting.  

 

Pansy pulled her lips back and sighed.  “So...going out?  Christmas lights?  Muggle London?”

 

Harry pressed his lips to hers again.  “Nah,” he said.  “I’ve had enough of other people for today.  I can cook,” he suggested.  “And there’s plenty more of Hagrid’s wine.  And maybe, if we’re lucky…” Harry started.

 

“Lucky?” Pansy asked, stomach clenching at the sparkle in his eyes.

 

“You’ll let me massage you tonight instead,” Harry said suggestively.

 

Pansy kissed him, then asked, “Found a mind healer yet?”

  
“Damn it,” was Harry’s groaned response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, as always for reading and reviewing. Your words are like magic to me.


	21. December 20th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes home late.

Pansy paced, worrying her feet over the rug in Harry’s room.  It was half-eleven and he hadn't returned yet from wherever he'd gone off to that evening.  He hadn't told her where he was going.

 

Pansy suspected the worst.

 

Her mind kept throwing new scenarios at her, each worse than the one before.  She thought him gone to somewhere else, Majorca or America or Mars.  She imagined him passed out just outside the wards, head cracked and bleeding on the pavement where he fell.  She saw him dead on the ground in Diagon Alley, having finally taken enough dreamless sleep to shut down his organs and depress his magical core completely.

 

She thought about flooing Hermione, flooing Draco, flooing everyone who knew Harry.

 

She blamed herself, for pushing too much, not being effective enough.  Pansy knew addiction was hard, an undertow easier to be swept away by than fight.  But she'd been sure…

 

Harry had seemed so much better, sleeping better and trusting her and, and, and, she added to herself.  She wanted to believe he was out at a pub with the friends he'd recently welcomed back into his life.  But she knew better than to trust in it.

 

She had let herself get so carried away, with the domesticity of their situation, with feelings she should've been smart enough to tamp down, at least until...well, at least until the month had passed.  The vulnerability Pansy liked to pretend wasn't inside of her was so very close to the surface, too close.  She'd spent too many years building herself only to break almost immediately in the hands of a troubled Gryffindor world-saver, who'd forgiven her betrayal, who looked at her with the greenest eyes and seemed to believe she could save him.

 

Pansy wondered if instead she needed to save herself.

 

She was seconds away from bundling up and going out to search for him herself when she felt the change in the wards, indicating his arrival home.  She ran out of the room and down the flight of stairs to stand on the landing to watch him enter.  

 

“So how much did you take tonight?” Pansy said, causing Harry to drop his black wool coat from his hands onto the scratched floor of the entry.  

 

“Pansy, I'm sorry I'm so late…” he said as he looked up at her where he stood.

 

“I asked you, how much did you take?” she asked.

 

“What? None!  I haven't had dreamless sleep, Pansy,” he said, arms crossing defensively across his chest.  “You don't trust me, I take it?” he asked.

 

“Just fucking be honest with me.  How much did you take?” she asked again as he climbed the stairs to the first landing where she stood, blending in with the shadows on the dark damask wallpaper.

 

“What the fuck, Pansy?  I told you I didn't take anything.  I swear I didn't,” he pleaded, resting his hands on her shoulders.  “I have news; I'm sorry it got to be so late,” he said as she brushed off his hands.

 

He instead brushed the hair off of her face, gently twisting the ends in his fingers as they moved down the strands.  “I didn't mean to upset you,” he told her frozen form.  He pressed a kiss to her forehead and drew his fingers up her arms.  “Pansy...I'm sorry.  You can trust me,” he told her as she sighed, her dark eyes dilated in the low light of the landing.  

 

Harry moved a step closer.  “You can trust me,” he said, lower.  He pressed her into the wall, whispering, “Pansy, you can trust me.”

 

She sagged into the wall behind her.  “I believe you,” she whispered back.  “But fuck you for making me worry like this,” she said, without venom. 

 

Harry returned his hands to Pansy’s hair, drawing her close into him.  “Don't you know how much you've helped me?” he asked.  “Don't you know how much I need you?”

 

Pansy fisted her hands in his shirt.  “Need me to sleep,” she panned.  

 

Harry pulled back so his eyes could bore into hers.  “If you think that's all…”  He brought his lips to hers in a reverent kiss.  “Pansy, I found a mind healer,” he told her, lips only a breath away from hers.  “I'm meeting with him just after Christmas.  He's based out of St. Mungos but has muggle training as well, like you.”  Harry paused, running his thumbs over Pansy’s cheeks.  “I told him to owl you, too, about your facility.”

 

“You did?” Pansy asked, unbelieving.  “Wait...Lisa Turpin’s brother?” she asked.  “Max?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied.  “And I met with my solicitor tonight too.  I've been avoiding it too long.  Too much to cover in one night,” he told her.  

 

“I know the feeling,” Pansy replied, stepping out of Harry’s embrace.  

 

He grabbed her hand.  “Pansy, where does that leave us?” he asked, thumb tracing the bones of her hand.

 

“To bed, I guess,” she told him.  “You need your sleep.”

 

“But…?” he asked, following behind as she climbed the next flight of stairs, which creaked with the weight of their steps.

 

“It's late,” she told him, the barest hint of regret in her voice as she moved towards the room she hadn't slept in more than a couple of times.  “Treatment,” she asserted, “and sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments and kudos!


	22. December 21st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy has a rough night. Hermione gives some advice.

While Harry slept peacefully, tangled up with Pansy, her eyes stayed open, staring into the dark of the room.  His even breathing was not enough to soothe her into sleep; the worry that had been saturating her all evening transformed itself into a pulsing anxiety that worked at deconstructing every word they'd spoken.

 

A part of Pansy was certain she nearly vibrated from nervous energy for nothing, longed to let it go and fall into sleep.  Harry slept, naturally, in her arms.  He trusted her.  He wanted her in his bed.  He wanted her.

 

But the louder part of her brain, itching at logic and scratching at reasoning, told her it was selfish.  He needed her for sleep, nothing more.  He was intrigued, maybe, but at best she was a Hermione-mandated aspect of his life he looked forward to losing at the end of the month.  He was an addict, biding his time, playing the game.

 

The cynicism felt just awful in her churning stomach.  For once, Pansy wanted to give herself over to hope, to trust, to someone who could break her heart.  But longer the night stretched, the more the whispers in her mind twisted every thought to panic or doubt.  She never meant for him to be anything other than a patient, or a casual friend.  She never meant to feel anything for him other than annoyance or pity or repentance.  She never meant to kiss him.  

She never meant to need him, too.

 

As the sun crept ever closer to its morning rise, she worried her fingers through his hair as he slept and hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find some way to believe them both before it broke her.

* * *

“Pansy!” Hermione called out as Pansy stepped through the door into Smithe’s Apothecary, sleigh bell jingling to announce her arrival.  Hermione stood next to a display of infused lotions and tinctures and Pansy walked over to join her.  “My skin get so dry this time of year,” Hermione confessed.  “I'm hoping one of Draco’s lotions will help.  Especially now,” she said, resting her hands on her bump.

 

Pansy pointed a gloved hand at a tall jar.  “This one is nice, very moisturizing.  The smell is soothing, too...I use it with some of my patients.”

 

“Thanks for the recommendation!” Hermione said brightly, moving for the green glass of the jar.  She caught a better look at Pansy as she shifted her head to inspect the label.  “Rough night?”

 

“Yeah, kind of,” Pansy said with a shrug.  “How could you tell?  Do I look that awful?”

 

“No, not at all,” Hermione began.  “I just know you better and can read you more now.”

 

Pansy sighed and looked around.  “Have you seen Draco?” she asked.  “Is he in the back?”

 

“His assistant told me he was off at an appointment for the morning,” Hermione told her.  

 

“For fuck’s sake,” she said under her breath.  

 

Hermione reached out to touch Pansy’s arm.  “Is it Harry?” Hermione asked.  “Even if it's not, you can talk to me.”

 

“I don't…”

 

“Come on, Pansy.  Let me buy this, then let's go find something to eat.  I'll be happy to listen,” Hermione told her while dragging Pansy towards the counter.

* * *

 

Pansy reluctantly agreed to join Hermione for tea at the cafe where they had met initially to discuss Harry’s problem.  She was fairly certain Hermione wouldn't have let her say no, so she went along.

 

“I don’t know why you like this place so much,” Pansy said as they each slid into a side of a booth.  “The service is shite and I make better tea at home.”

 

“You’re missing the charm of the place, I think,” Hermione said.  “Plus, the food…”   
  
Pansy interrupted, “I’m starting to think that you have a thing about food now, with the baby and all.”  

 

Hermione laughed.  “You might be right about that,” she said as the waiter came to take their orders.  When he left, Hermione unwound the scarf from her neck and placed it beside her.  “Is it Harry?” she asked with a serious expression on her face.

 

“No,” Pansy sighed.  “Not in the way I think you mean it.  His treatment is fine.  He even found a mind healer,” she said as she wrestled her napkin in between her fingers.

 

“That’s great news,” Hermione said.  “You don’t seem pleased about that, though.”

 

“I really am,” Pansy told her.  “It’s an important move for him, and it means...or it meant…”

 

Hermione rested her elbows on the table and looked at Pansy with careful consideration.  “There’s something going on between you,” Hermione said after a moment.  “I noticed how you were with each other the other morning at breakfast, how you both touched each other.  Something’s changed,” she said, carefully.  She knew Pansy well enough to tread carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Pansy admitted quietly, before quickly asserting, “but nothing unethical, mind you.  I set boundaries, I, we, didn’t do anything…”

 

“Pansy, I’m not accusing you of anything untoward,” Hermione offered as the waiter brought their tea.  “Something happened, though.”

 

“In what sense do you mean, Hermione?” Pansy snapped.

 

“You had a fight,” Hermione guessed.  She eyed Pansy, until Pansy couldn’t help but bend to the pressure of Hermione’s gaze.

 

“Sort of, not really…” Pansy started, before pausing to sip her tea.  “He came back late last night, half eleven, and I didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been up to.”

 

“You were worried,” Hermione suggested.

 

“Yes, yeah...thinking the worst, that he’d started taking the potion again…”

 

Pansy studied her hands.  “Feeling like I couldn’t trust him at all,” she paused.  “I can’t believe I’m confessing to a fucking Gryffindor.”

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Hermione told her, welcoming the plate of food that appeared before her on the table with a smile.  “And you’re confessing to a friend.  What did he say?”

 

Pansy started to deconstruct the scone onto the small doily-covered plate in front of her.  “That he needed me.”

 

Hermione’s head cocked to the side in a move that reminded Pansy of Axel’s listening pose.  “And you don’t believe him?”

 

“I believe he needs me to sleep,” Pansy quickly responded, still breaking apart the scone.

 

Hermione reached across the table, startling Pansy as her hand rested on Pansy’s to still it.  “He needs you for more than that, Pansy.  I’m sure of it.”

 

Pansy’s dark eyes flickered up to meet Hermione’s chocolate ones.  “How would you even know?”

 

“I have eyes,” Hermione insisted with a smirk.  “I think you should trust him.  He clearly trusts you and you want to trust him.”  Hermione took another bite of her sandwich, chewing deliberately.  “Stick with him, Pansy.  Trust in the change in him.  Trust in the change in yourself.”

 

Pansy slumped backwards, resting her head against the back of the booth.  She took a deep breath, and another, and another, before raising her head to meet Hermione’s eyes again.  “I don’t want the money anymore,” Pansy said.

 

“What?” Hermione asked.  “Why not?”

 

“This just...I don’t want to be paid for helping him.  I just want to help him.  I don’t want your money, or Weasley’s money, or the ministry’s money, or whoever the fuck’s money it is,” Pansy insisted.

 

Hermione didn’t say anything for a moment.  “I can understand that,” she said.  “But I know you were going to use the money to help start your treatment facility.”

 

“I was.  I’ll figure it out,” Pansy told her, finally managing to eat one of the crumbled pieces of her scone.  “I won’t take your money, though.  I won’t.”

 

“What if…” Hermione began.  “What if we called it a donation?  Or, barring that, you took on a silent partner looking to invest?”

 

“What do you mean?” Pansy asked, taken aback.

 

“I really believe in what you’re doing, Pansy.  I’ve seen how you’ve helped Harry, and Draco, and I’ve talked to some of your other patients.  I know we’re already giving you our fee from our Witch Weekly interview, but you’re going to need more to get you started.  You need a building, and I’m sure there are ministry licensing fees, and salaries for the staff you’re going to hire, and all sorts of expenses.”  Hermione added tea to her mug before taking a drink and scrunching her nose at the heat of the newly poured beverage.  “None of that will come free.  And I’m in need of a project with a flexible schedule,” she admitted.

 

“You...yes...I know.  I’ve got some ideas for fundraising…” Pansy said.

 

“Why spend time fundraising when you could be helping more people instead?” Hermione asked.  “Don’t think of it as payment.  Just, Pansy, please don’t say no.”

 

Pansy sighed again, covering her plate with her napkin.  “I’ll think about it.”  

 

“I’m sure you know I’ve been working in non-profits for the last several years,” Hermione told her.  “I’ve got experience in this sort of thing, and I’ve even been doing some research, have compiled some ideas for you.”  Seeing Pansy’s eyebrow raise, Hermione quickly added, “Oh, no, no, I’m not trying to usurp your brilliant work.  I’d just love the chance to help get an idea I believe in so much off the ground.”  

 

Pansy couldn’t completely shutter the surprise and delight she was trying to mask.  “Really?” she asked.

 

“Really.  In fact, if you’re not busy now, want to come by the manor and look at what I’ve put together so far?  I’m sure Theo would love it if you stayed for dinner when we’re done,” Hermione added.  

 

“Well, Granger-Nott,” Pansy began, holding off on expressing her agreement for as long as she could.  “I think I would.  That actually sounds pretty great.”

 

“Fantastic!” Hermione said, picking up her scarf to wind it back around her neck.

 

“Hey, Hermione...thank you.  For listening.”

  
“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing and following along with this little story. Your comments are the rum in my eggnog.


	23. December 22nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy talk (finally).

Pansy woke to the feeling of Harry’s hands on her skin.  “You got home late last night,” he mumbled into her neck.  She had dined with Hermione and Theo and had come home just in time for Harry’s treatment.  Harry and Axel had been curled up together on Harry’s bed waiting for her to come home.  “And you were quiet during the massage,” he continued.  

 

Pansy reveled in the feeling of Harry’s arms around her.  “I had a lot on my mind,” she told him.  “Hermione and I were talking about my facility.  She has some good ideas, expanded on some of mine.”

 

“That’s our Hermione,” Harry said, while encouraging her to turn to face him with gentle touches and kisses pressed to her shoulder.  “And our Pansy,” he added with a grin as an afterthought.  

 

“Hmmm,” she said, giving in to Harry’s attempts to move her.  “I’m sorry I was so late getting back,” she said, noticing a dark hair that had fallen to his cheek.  She reached up and swept it away and Harry nuzzled his face into her hand.

 

“I missed you,” he told her.  “Axel missed you too, but not as much as me,” Harry smirked, threading his fingers through her dark locks.  

 

Pansy felt the twist of nerves in her stomach, and attempted to dull them with a reminder of Hermione’s words from the day before.  Trust him.  Trust yourself.  But she couldn’t keep the deflection from falling from her lips.  “You were tired and wanted to go to sleep, you mean.”

 

Harry shifted and moved to press himself over Pansy, pushing her into the mattress.  She couldn’t look away, and his green eyes captured hers in a gaze so intense she felt the breath leave her lungs.  “No,” he said, “no.  I missed  _ you _ ,” he said, punctuating the statement with a kiss.  “I wanted to be with _ you _ .  I wanted to talk to  _ you _ .  I wanted to touch  _ you _ .  I need  _ you _ , not what you do for me.  Pansy, I need you because you’re  _ you. _ ”

 

“Harry,” she breathed.  

 

“Please believe me, Pansy,” he said, and captured her lips in a kiss she felt in every nerve and sinew of her body.  She warred with herself as they kissed, losing when she forced herself to pull away from him.  Harry’s fingers found her chin, shifting her gaze until her eyes met his again.  “I know I’m fucked up…” he began.  “I know I’ve made a lot of decisions that have probably made things worse for me.  But you…”

 

“Me?” she murmured in return.

 

“You don’t take shit from me,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  “You don’t fawn over me like I’m some sort of fucking celebrity who should be expecting or wanting the attention.  You found me in a really bad place and have done everything you could to help me.”  He moved his arms to embrace her, and then shifted them on the mattress so they were again lying face to face, legs entangled.  “You moved on from the past, our past, and made me believe it was possible for me to do as well.  Made me want to do it with you,” he said, pulling her hands into his, resting their entwined fingers over his heart.

 

“I don’t…” she started, searching Harry’s eyes.  She had been wrong in all of her worry, in her denial and anxiety.  Actually admitting her feelings was going to be the easiest thing, the rightest thing.  She began to let go, to trust, to admit.    “How could I not be fascinated by a man who let his friend learn to tattoo on his arse?” she laughed.  “Or who has conversations with my crup?  Or who forgave me for something really shite I said when I was terrified and seventeen?  Or who wanted only to defend me from the Prophet?  Or who looks at me through the greenest eyes like I’m his lifeline?”  She touched her lips to his.  “Or his partner…”

 

“I found a fucking mind healer,” he told her, reaching out to rest his hand possessively across her throat, his thumb moving against the skin of her neck.  “And not just because I’m desperate for you,” he said, shifting his hand around to cup the back of her head.  “But because this is real, Pansy.  This is fucking real,” he finished, crushing her lips to his. 

 

Every movement of their hands, their bodies, took on an explosive urgency as Pansy deepened their kiss.  Harry’s hands slipped under her rumpled t-shirt, and he broke their kiss to sweep it off over her head.  “Is this okay?” he asked before touching her, his eyes locked to hers.

 

“It’s okay,” she breathed.  “We can’t...not all the way, not yet, not while you’re still technically my patient,” she told him, and he responded by touching his lips to hers.

 

“I know,” he whispered.  “Stop me if it’s too much,” he said as she nodded and his lips met the valley of her throat.  He trailed kisses down her sternum before moving to pluck one of her nipples between his lips.  Pansy’s moan brought a grin to Harry’s lips as he moved them to her other breast.  “You have no idea…” he said, as he watched her body react to the rush of his breath on her skin.

 

“No, I do.  I really, really do,” she exhaled as her fingernails scratched light trails down the skin of his back.  “Sometimes touching you feels like torture.”

 

Harry pulled her into an embrace, threading his thumbs into the waist of her flannel pants at her hips.  “Can I…?” he asked, and she nodded, and he quickly flicked the rest of her clothes away.  He traced his tongue in a swirling trail from her breasts, to her navel, and lower, lower.  Harry rested his hands on the insides of her thighs as he settled himself between her legs.  He raised his eyebrow as a question and with her nod, he found her with his tongue.  As she lost herself fully to him, his name fell over and over and over from her lips.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes up for some of the angst from the past few chapters. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	24. December 23rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy visits Greg and meets a new friend. The Daily Prophet has a new story.

Pansy unwound herself from Harry and moved to press a kiss to his forehead, touching his face until his eyes flickered open.  “I’ve got an early appointment today,” she told him.  “I’ll be back later this morning.  Go back to sleep,” she said as she brought her lips to his.

 

“Mmmm...or you could stay,” he told her sleepily, unable to keep his eyes open.  “We could do a thing.”

 

“Later.  I’ll be back in a little while,” she said, as she crawled out of bed.  Harry swiftly pulled the covers back around him and rolled over, sleeping soundly before Pansy even left the room.  Axel wormed himself out of the other side of the blankets and shook his fur, scampering behind her.  “You are staying with Harry this time,” she told him.  “But come on, I’ll let you out since you’re up.”  

* * *

  
  


Pansy apparated to Greg’s farm and walked up the path to knock on the door of his cabin, shielding herself from the rain with an impervious charm.  Greg opened the door with a sleepy smile and a mug of coffee in his hand.  

 

“Ugh, your coffee smells awful,” Pansy said, as she released her charm and removed her coat.

 

“Tea don’t wake me up for shite, you know,” he returned.  “Come with me, she’s in the kitchen.”  Pansy followed him through the narrow hall until the warm, bright kitchen opened up in front of them.  

 

A crup, half-crup she assumed, sat in one of the wooden chairs at Greg’s table, resting her head on a newspaper.  She perked up as Pansy approached, and held her paw out in greeting.  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” Pansy asked, giving the crup’s paw a gentle shake.

 

“Aye, she’s sweet, our Bastard.  Part crup, part St. Bernard,” Greg said, rubbing his knuckle at a spot behind the crup’s ear as she melted into his hand.

 

“Bastard?  What kind of a name is that?” Pansy asked, stepping back to get a good look at the animal. 

 

“She can be a right bastard when she feels like it,” Greg said.  “I always find names that suit.  You know what Axel means, don’t you?”

 

“No,” Pansy asked, looking up at Greg.  “I never thought to look.”

 

“Father of peace,” he said.  “And see, he’s brought you peace finally.  Hasn’t he?” 

 

Pansy moved away from the crup to draw Greg into her arms.  “You...you are such a lovely friend, Greg Goyle.  Wise, too.”  Pansy turned to appraise Bastard again.  “She’s so sweet and lovely!  Look at her lovely dark and white fluff, and her pretty dark eyes, and her huge fucking paws.”

 

“She’s going to be big, I think.  St. Bernards are big, Pansy.”  

 

“Good thing we’ve got room at Grimmauld,” she said.  “And Axel likes her?”  Pansy’s hands found Bastard’s fluffy fur again.  

 

“Maybe more even than you,” Greg told her.  “And that’s saying something.”  

 

Pansy grinned at him, though the grin faded quickly when her eyes fell to the paper Bastard had been resting her head on.  “Holy fuck!” she shouted, causing a startled Bastard to press her head into Pansy’s side.  “What the fuck is this?...I knew there was something up with that fucking guy.”

 

The cover of the Daily Prophet featured an exclusive expose of the latest scandal in the quidditch league: magical moving photos, though slightly blurred for modesty, showing the head of Magical Games and Sports, Ronald Weasley, sandwiched between the owner of the Chudley Cannons, Blaise Zabini, and his star keeper, Oliver Wood.  Their hips were pistoning against each other’s through the blur of the obfuscation added to the photograph.  In another, seemingly taken in his office, Ron passionately kissed Blaise while Oliver’s head bobbed at the bottom of the photo.

 

_ Out of the Broom Closet, Into a Ministry Quidditch Scandal _

 

_ War hero Ron Weasley, now head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, has been caught in a sex scandal implicating his department trading Ministry favor to the Chudley Cannons quidditch team in exchange for sexual congress with its owner, Blaise Zabini, and its star keeper, Oliver Wood.  The three parties have been photographed in various locations involved in sexual acts.  The Chudley Cannons were hand-selected by the Ministry to participate in the Boxing Day exhibition quidditch match against the Ballycastle Bats in a match set to raise money for the Ministry Orphanage.   _

 

_ It is expected that Mr. Weasley will be asked to resign his Ministry office.  Rumours have also indicated that the Cannons may be replaced in the exhibition by the Montrose Magpies or the Wigtown Wanderers.   _

 

“I wonder how they fucking got these photos,” Pansy said.  

 

“Well, it’s not like it looks like they’re especially careful about where they fuck,” Greg returned, still scratching behind Bastard’s ear.  

 

“True,” she considered.  “Well, we knew about Zabini, but I wouldn’t have guessed about Weasley, with how much we all suffered through him and Lavender Brown sixth year.”

 

Greg shrugged.  “Looks like the three of them are a pretty good fit,” which drew a barking laugh out of Pansy.  

 

“I wonder if Harry’s seen this yet.  I should get back,” she told Greg.  “I’ll come for her tomorrow before Draco’s party.  I’ve got a space set up for her, so she’ll be a surprise.”

 

“Works for me,” Greg told her, pressing a kiss to Pansy’s cheek.  “See you tomorrow.”

 

Pansy smoothed the fur around Bastard’s face.  “Oh, sweetie.  Harry’s going to love you.  I’ll bring you home tomorrow.”  Pansy pulled on her coat.  “Mind if I floo back?” she asked.  

 

“Go ahead.  Come on, Bastard, let's get you fed,” Greg said and motioned to the crup, who followed him out of the room.

* * *

  
  


When Pansy arrived back at Grimmauld Place, she found Harry in the kitchen looking flustered.

 

“See what happens when you're not here?  Everything goes to shite,” he told her.  “Axel ate something that didn't sit right  and vomited.  He's better now but he hasn't stopped barking at that damn portrait on the landing.  And who knows what the fuck is up with Ron,” he said, tossing the paper at her.

 

“I saw it at...during my appointment,” she quickly corrected, moving over to wrap her arms around Harry.  “I mean…I thought something might be up with him.  I just wouldn't have guessed it would be getting buggered by Zabini and Wood.”

 

“I wouldn't have believed it if there weren't those fucking pictures.  I'm happy for him if he's happy, and I don't care that he's gay, but fuck.  Being anything but above the board at work…” Harry said as he pulled Pansy onto his lap and buried his face into her neck.  

 

“It's the fucking Prophet.  Maybe they're just all involved and there's nothing untoward going on.  Besides a thorough buggering in some questionable places,” she speculated as she wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck.

 

He sighed before bringing his lips to hers, drawing the reassurance he craved from her.  “I hope you're right,” he said he broke the kiss.  “I should go find Ron.”

 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “you probably should.”  She kissed him again.  And again.  “Want me to come?”

 

“If he's angry it probably wouldn't help,” Harry admitted.  “I'll miss you.”

 

“Yes,” Pansy said, drawing him closer to her.  “Don't forget, Draco’s Yule party is tomorrow night.  You're coming with me, right?”

 

“Wouldn't miss it,” Harry said, trailing his hands down her back to cup her arse.  “And who knows, maybe I'll get Ron to bring his boyfriends.”

 

“As long as they don't give us the full live show,” Pansy said with a smirk.  “Wouldn't want to spoil Draco’s buffet of gourmet chocolates from around the world.  Or his chocolate cake.  Or his chocolate fountain.”

 

Harry hummed against Pansy’s neck.  “Maybe we can bring some of that home with us, for later,” he said, before dragging his teeth across her throat.  “I can only imagine how you’d taste with chocolate dripped along your sweet skin.”

 

Pansy moaned and then pushed back, sliding off Harry’s lap.  “Oh, Merlin.”

 

“The name’s Harry,” he smirked.  

 

Pansy huffed,  “Fucking go find your arsehole friend, now, you arse.  Otherwise I can't be held responsible for what I'll do.”

 

Harry stood to press a quick kiss to her mouth while his hand once again captured her arse.  “Soon.”

 

“Soon,” she agreed, and Harry headed towards the floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...the reveal of the real scandal. Thank you for reading and reviewing and indulging me in this little story. Happy Christmas Eve Eve!


	25. December 24th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy attend the Malfoy's Yule party.

Pansy heard two sharp knocks on the door to her bedroom, or rather dedicated closet and bathroom space, since she’d been spending all of her nights with Harry.  

 

“Come in!” she called, and Harry entered.  Pansy’s eyes scanned Harry to appraise his dark suit and freshly washed hair.  “You clean up nicely, dangerously, even,” she told him, holding out her hands to draw him over to her where she stood near her closet.  “Care to zip me up?” she asked, turning around to reveal the expanse of her back behind the open zipper in her dress covered in sparkling gold sequins.  She swept her dark waves aside to leave a clear line for the zipper’s path.

 

“I thought you could do these up with magic,” Harry asked, as his fingers found the pull for the zipper at her lower back.  He traced them up her spine ahead of the pull, touching her as much as possible during the process, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

 

“Not as fun as when you do it,” she told him, and Harry stepped closer, gripping her hips with his hands.  

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered at her neck as he held her back to him.  “I tell myself you can’t possibly be as beautiful as I remember you to be, and then I see you and you’re even more beautiful than you are in my head.  I’m always losing my breath around you,” he told her, moving his hands to her shoulders, then down the sequinned front of her dress, over breasts and past her belly to rest again at her hips.  

 

Pansy turned in his arms, threading hers around Harry’s neck before pressing her lips to his.  “You flatter,” she told him between kisses.  

 

“Nope.  I will always tell you the truth,” he returned.  “I suppose we should go before Draco comes over to drag us to the Manor himself,” Harry said.  

 

“I'm ready,” Pansy said.  “Let’s go.”  She grabbed Harry’s hand and led him out of her room.

* * *

“We are so delighted you both could join us,” Astoria said, pressing kisses to their cheeks in turn.  “Taffy here will take your coats, then we’re all in the parlor.”

 

Harry and Pansy gave their coats to the waiting elf and followed Astoria to a grandly decorated room, with sparkling trees as high as the ceilings and festive music complementing the warm holiday scents permeating the room.  

 

“Pansy, Harry,” Draco said, moving to greet them.  “So glad you could make it. Happy Yule,” he said, offering his hand to Harry.  

 

“Draco, Happy Yule,” Pansy said before moving in to hug him.  

 

“Refreshments and drinks are on the tables, help yourself.”

 

“Let me guess, all the poncy cheeses I've ever wanted,” Pansy teased as Harry gave Draco a look of amusement.

 

“Plebe,” Draco retorted. 

 

“Hardly,” Pansy snorted.  “There are other food than only cheese and accoutrements, Draco.”

 

He ignored her, and turned to nod across the room.  “Granger and Theo are here and everyone else keeps trickling in.”

 

“Ron?” Harry asked.  

 

Draco sighed.  “Blaise is coming, and I would assume his paramours will join him.  Fucking Prophet,” he said.

 

Harry grabbed Pansy’s hand.  “Let’s see what kind of bar you stock,” he jabbed.

 

“No doubt better than yours,” Draco snorted.  “We've got that wine you like, Pans,” he said as he led them over to the bar.

 

“Harry!  You made it!” a glowing Hermione said as she swept over with Theo in tow.  Greetings exchanged, Harry asked, “how are you feeling?  How’s my niece treating you?”

 

“Well.  We’re both well,” Hermione shared.  “Hungry, though,” she added.

 

“So hungry,” Theo added with a smirk.  “Sometimes even at half three.”  

 

Hermione turned to Pansy as Theo moved to fill a plate for his wife.  “I’ve got another file for you.  I ran into a contact yesterday, a solicitor I know at the Ministry, and have a list of available properties around Diagon Alley for you.  After the holiday we can start to scout them out.”

 

“Fabulous!” Pansy exclaimed.  “I’m so excited to get the process started and that’s really the next thing that needs to be set before we can progress much further.”

 

“Around Diagon?” Harry asked with a curious expression on his face.  “That’s good, smart,” he told Pansy, threading his arm around her waist while pressing a glass of dark red wine into her hand.  Pansy grinned up at him.  “Have you talked to Ron yet, Hermione?” Harry asked, changing the subject.

 

“A bit a couple of days ago, but not at all since yesterday’s Prophet came out.  Quite the shocker,” she supplied.

 

Pansy raised her dark brow at Hermione.  “Really, Granger?”

 

“Well…” Hermione trailed off.  “Parts of it, anyway.  Not everything.  Definitely not everything.”  Theo laughed and Harry looked surprised at her response.  

 

“Come on, love,” Pansy said while patting Harry’s face.  “Let’s leave Granger-Nott to her small selection of pasteurized cheeses.”

* * *

A short while later the party was in full swing, guests chatting in small groups around the festive space.  Harry and Pansy wandered over to where Luna was sitting, cross legged next to Greg Goyle on one of the sofas.

 

“I wonder if there would be any merits to try to introduce additional species into some of your crosses,” she was saying.  “You might have less control, sure…”

 

“Right.  It's seemed to risky to try.  I've got this idea for working some kneazle characteristics into crup cross-breeds,” Greg told her.

 

“Hmmm,” Luna pondered for a moment before turning towards Harry and Pansy.  “Hi, Harry, hello Pansy.”

 

“Hi Luna, Greg,” Harry said before bringing his ale to his lips.

 

“We were discussing animal husbandry,” Luna told him.  “But that's not what you want to talk to me about right now.”  She sipped from the fogging, ice-colored cocktail she was holding.

 

“Yeah...how...nevermind,” Harry began.  “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something in private, Luna.”

 

“Private?” Pansy asked, her eyebrow raised at him.

 

“It's about a gift of sorts,” Harry replied, moving to press a kiss to Pansy’s forehead.

 

“And it will work like you want it to,” Luna replied vaguely.  “Gregory, you and I are going to have many more words tonight, and tomorrow,” she told him, while passing him her fogging drink.  “For now.  Come along, Harry,” she said and Harry moved to follow her out of the room.

 

Greg chuckled.  “I have no idea,” he said as Pansy frowned.  “I hope you're not worrying.  She already asked if I'd like to help demonstrate how her new yoga practice has helped to ‘elongate her orgasms.’  Can you believe it?”

 

“Yes,” Pansy said simply, sipping her own wine.  “How's Bastard?”

 

“All ready for you,” he told her.  “And I have a lead on a home for another of her litter mates.  Blaise Zabini, can you believe it?”

 

“Strangely, this time, no,” Pansy quipped.  “What, a present for his new boyfriends?” she asked, eyes moving to where Oliver and Ron filled up an armchair while Blaise flitted around them, pressing drinks and starters into their hands with a besotted expression.

 

“Aye. Not until after the New Year, though,” he said, before falling into silence as they watched Oliver's hand climb higher up Ron’s thigh and Blaise change his focus to begin taking turns kneading the tension out of his companions’ necks.

 

“I'm starting to wonder at how they weren't discovered earlier,” Pansy asked.

 

“Uh-huh,” Greg responded.

* * *

 

A short while later when Harry and Luna returned, the only discernable difference Pansy could see in their appearances was a bandage attached to the back of Harry’s neck.  Pansy rose to go greet Harry with a kiss.  “I think I can guess what you’ve been up to,” she told him, threading her fingers into the length of Harry’s hair.  

 

“Hmmm...guess you’ll have to find out later,” Harry told her, hands dangerously low on her lower back, pressing into the sequins on her dress.

 

“I guess I will,” she said, finding his lips again then quickly moving to deepen the kiss.

 

They broke apart when cheers and whistles started to fill the room around them.  “Hey,” Harry said.  “We were only…” but then stopped as soon as he saw that Luna had crawled onto Greg’s lap and pulled his jumper over his head, and was currently undoing the white button-down he still wore.

 

Luna laughed at the attention, making a show of adjusting her position over his legs, and then pulled her wand from where it had been holding her dirty blonde locks into a messy arrangement on the top of her head, causing the strands to fall down her back.  She pointed the tip into his chest a few inches down from his collarbone and began chanting a quiet spell, moving the wand in subtle movements across his skin.  He watched her with an expression of awe on his face.  

The rest of the party was slowly converging on the sofa where the two sat to watch Luna work.  After a few minutes filled with her quiet casting, the spirited figure of a crup danced across Greg’s chest.  “There,” Luna told him, a satisfied smile gracing her face.  

 

“Shite, Luna, this is fantastic,” Greg told her.

 

Ron had walked over to nudge Harry.  “You tell your witch how you got the one on your arse?”

 

“Oh, he did,” Pansy added.  “Luna does great work,” she smirked.  “You’ve been busy, I see.”

 

“Saw that, did you?” Ron asked.  “Not quite how we wanted that to come out,” he said with a sheepish expression.  “I’m right pissed I’m probably going to have to quit the Ministry, but it’s worth it,” he said, gazing over at Oliver and Blaise, who were largely ignoring the proceedings by whispering in each other’s ears.

 

“Ron, did you…” Harry asked, with a reluctant expression.   
  


“Fuck no,” Ron said.  “Everything started after the deal was made, but you know how it is.  The ministry is always bending to pressure from the Prophet.”  

 

“Fuck the Prophet,” Pansy added, drawing nods from those around her.  

 

Harry reached out, touching Ron’s shoulder.  “You’re happy, right?  I mean, you seem…”

 

“Yeah,” Ron breathed, with a hopeful expression.  “I know it’s probably a shock.  I mean, I never said I was...and while three people in a relationship isn’t unheard of, it’s not common.  We’re having fun.  It’s good.  Fulfilling.”

 

“Ugh,” Pansy said.  “Haven’t we gotten enough details about how fulfilled you are in the last couple of days?”  

 

Ron chuckled before turning again to Harry.  “Wanna come to the Burrow for Christmas dinner tomorrow?” he asked.

 

“Your boyfriends going with you?” Harry asked.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Ron answered.

 

“And has your mother seen all three of you together yet?”

 

“Uhm, probably just in the paper.”

 

“Then no, not even a little bit,” Harry told him.  “I’m hoping for a peaceful holiday this year,” he said, pulling Pansy closer.

 

“Some friend you are,” Ron grumbled.  

 

“Hey,” Harry told him.  “You made your bed.”

 

“Arsehole,” Ron said, as Pansy laughed.

* * *

 

Draco walked over to the fireplace, clanging a table knife to his wine glass.  “We would like to raise a toast,” he began.  Astoria walked over to join Draco, threading her fingers through his.  

 

“To everyone, thank you for joining us tonight, and this year.  We’re so pleased to have the love of so many friends in our lives,” Astoria said.

 

“To new friends,” Draco said, “and old.  And to moving on from the past.  Forgiveness,” he said, purposely meeting Harry’s eyes, then Hermione’s.

 

“And to new beginnings,” Astoria continued.  “To new relationships, new ventures,” she said, as Harry pulled Pansy into his arms.  “To new children.  To Theo and Hermione’s coming child.”  Theo wrapped himself around Hermione, their joined hands resting on her growing belly.  “And ours,” she said, her smile glittering brighter than the fire or the fairy lights on the tree, or any of the lights in the room.  “He’ll arrive in June,” she told everyone.  Excited cheers and murmurs filled the room.

 

“To Astoria and Draco!” Theo called, and the room echoed him.  The tinkling of glasses filled the air.  

 

“And to you,” Harry said into Pansy’s neck, feeling the thrum of her pulse under his lips.  Pansy turned in his arms until they stood face to face, forehead to forehead.  

 

“And to you.  You.  Always you,” she returned, punctuating her words with kisses.  

 

“Home soon?” he asked and she nodded against his head.

  
“So soon,” she whispered against his lips before claiming them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve! (And yes, it's still barely Christmas Eve here where I am by a half an hour). One more chapter to go, followed by an epilogue to be posted some time in the next week. Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing. Your words mean so much to me.


	28. December 25th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy celebrate Christmas.

Christmas morning, Harry and Pansy were awoken by Axel’s barking.  Pansy pulled up her pillow and pressed it over her face.  “He’s like a kid,” she said into the fabric.  “It’s so early,” she whined.

 

Harry pulled away the pillow and kissed her.  “Not that early,” he said against her lips.

 

“We do need to go deal with Axel’s barking though,” Pansy told him, moving to sit up, the flannel pyjama top of Harry’s she was wearing slipping down to expose her shoulder.  

 

“Why?” Harry asked, nipping at the bare skin of Pansy’s shoulder.  

 

She shrugged.  “It’s Christmas.”

 

Harry stood to pull on the flannel bottoms over his boxers and then moved his back to the bed.  “Climb on,” he told Pansy, and she threw her arms around his neck.  Harry grasped her arse and carried her out into the hallway and down the flights of stairs.

 

“When does the bandage come off your neck?” she asked, pressing her lips at its edge.  

 

“Soon,” he told her as they found Axel furiously barking at the door to the basement.  “What’s this?” Harry asked them, carefully letting Pansy off his back.  Axel looked up at them and swiftly went back to pawing at the door.

 

“Let’s see,” Pansy said, twisting open the door handle.  Out bounded Bastard, who was instantly knocked over by Axel.  The dogs playfully wrestled with each other on top of Harry’s feet, before he dropped down to his knees.  

 

“Who are you?” he asked, pulling the half-crup into his lap.  

 

“Greg named her Bastard,” Pansy told him with a smile.  “His names generally suit so I'm not sure what we’ll be up against.”

 

“Bastard, huh?  Aren’t you the sweetest?” Harry asked as Bastard shifted to open her belly to him.  Axel tried to worm his way under Harry’s arm to get his share of Harry’s attention.

 

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Pansy told him, sitting down next to him, attempting to corral Axel onto her own lap.   

 

“You chose her for me?” he asked.  

 

“Yeah,” she told him, bumping her shoulder into Harry’s.  “And Ax likes her, which was critical.”

 

Bastard rolled over on Harry, squirming up to place her paws on his shoulders.  She darted her face towards his, tongue extended.  Harry tried to move his face out of the way.  “You go kiss Axel,” he told her playfully.  “Ax, you can stick your tongues down each other’s throats instead of mine for a change,” Harry laughed, eyes sparkling with delight, releasing Bastard to go play with Axel.  

 

“We can only hope,” Pansy added, turning to face Harry.  “I have another present for you,” she began, sweeping her sleep-tousled waves out of her face with a quick sweep of her hand.

 

“More than this excellent pile of fluff?” he asked with a grin.

 

Pansy nodded.  “I quit.”

 

The mirth faded immediately from Harry’s face and a clear panic set itself in its place.  His fingers fell away from Bastard’s fur and he turned toward Pansy.  “Wait…” he paused, processing.  “You're leaving?  How is that a present?  Is that what Bastard is for, a poor replacement for you and Ax?  Pansy, how could you…” he asked as he fisted his hands into his hair, releasing his hair only to grasp his hands around her upper arms, wetness clouding his eyes.  “I don't want this...I don't want the crup or the mind healer or anything, Pansy, if you’re not with me.  Not without you.”

 

Harry’s strong, immediate reaction shook Pansy into action, and she crawled into his lap, threading her fingers into his hair.  Her kiss was infused with everything she felt for him, reassuring him through the pressure of her lips on his.  

 

“I'm not leaving you, you arsehole,” she panted.  “I'm quitting as your healer because I want to fuck you and be with you and stay with you longer than just this month,” her fingers traced his face, feeling the muscles shift under his skin as his expression changed to reflect his understanding of her words.  “I made sure the fucking crups get along, you arsehole.  Trust you to be oblivious to the most fucking romantic thing I've ever tried to do.”

 

Harry shifted Pansy backwards until she was lying on the intricately patterned rug running through the hallway.  “Resignation accepted,” Harry said.  “Thank fucking Merlin,” he said, tracing his hand up her bare thigh.  

 

“The name’s Pansy,” she drawled, drawing her hands around his bare back.  

 

“You scared the shite out of me,” he told her, hooking his thumbs in the waist of her knickers, following them as they trailed down her legs with a barrage of kisses until he slid the knickers off her feet.

 

Pansy’s fingers had made quick work of the buttons of Harry’s pyjama top and Harry looked up in time to see it falling down her arms.  She crawled over to him and slipped her hands in the waist of his pyjama bottoms, urging them down along with his boxers.  When he stood to fully divest himself of the garments, Pansy moved to kneel in front of him, reaching out to capture the length of him in her hand.  Her mouth followed as she tentatively swept her tongue from base to tip before engulfing the head of his cock between her lips.  

 

Harry groaned, but shook his head.  “Not this time,” he exhaled and Pansy released him from between her lips with a questioning expression.  He dove for the floor and took her down with him, capturing her lips as he went.  His fingers found her thigh again and they danced up her skin, teasing until they met her core. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Pansy moaned.  “I need…”

 

“You,” Harry breathed against her mouth as he entered her.  “Always fucking need you,” he said, as he moved and she moved and they moved until they came, one after the other, in an avalanche of feeling with the background sound of two happy crups wrestling two rooms away.

 

Harry fell back to the rug, turning Pansy into his side to bury his face into her hair.

 

“I can't believe we just fucked for the first time on the rug in the hallway outside your basement door,” Pansy said with a weak laugh.

 

“Sounds about right for us, actually,” he told her.  

 

“Ugh, you're probably right.  Next time let's aim for somewhere scenic, or at least a bed,” she told him, patting his chest.  

 

“How about my bathroom?” he asked.

 

“Sold,” she replied, punctuating her answer with a kiss.

* * *

Harry drew Pansy by the hand into his bathroom.  He silently moved to remove the bandage that Luna had stuck over the back of his neck.

 

“I’ve never seen a magical tattoo being done before...why was Luna able to leave Greg’s uncovered but had to bandage yours?” Pansy asked him, helping him peel the rest of the bandage down.

 

Harry smiled at her in the mirror.  “It didn’t really need to be covered,” he admitted.  “I wanted to keep it a bit of a secret,” he said as he held her gaze.  “And she used a new technique with me, something I’ve been talking to her about trying.  Sympathetic magic, like you said once.  A conduit.”  The rest of the bandage fell away, revealing a cluster of pansies in several colors: deep blue, gold, royal purple, violet, burgundy and orange.  Pansy’s fingers traced the edges of each flower in turn before bringing her lips up to press a kiss in the middle of the tattoo.  

 

“Harry,” she whispered, awestruck.

 

“Feel something,” he directed her.  “Feel something you want me to feel, and then touch the tattoo.”

 

Pansy closed her eyes and pressed her finger to his inked skin.  “Tell me,” she whispered, her breath warm against his back.

 

“Calm,” he said.  “Warmth and calmness and…” he broke contact to turn around and face her.  “And…” he said, green eyes shining into dark eyes.

 

“And,” Pansy said.  “Possibility.  Respect.  Trust.  Affection.  Devotion.  Maybe even…”

 

“Yes,” Harry affirmed, wandlessly aiming to turn on the taps for the bath before lifting Pansy up to sit on the vanity top next to the sink, marble cool under her naked arse.  “Yes,” he said, capturing her lips as her arms wound themselves around his back, pulling him close into her.

 

“Yes,” he whispered, breaking their kiss to rest his forehead against hers.  He touched her with the tip of his cock and her hips jolted forward to take him in.  “Yes.”

 

“Yes.”

* * *

After, they reclined together in the steaming bath kept from turning tepid by a powerful warming charm.  Harry brushed the wet strands of Pansy’s hair from her shoulder and traced kisses down her damp skin.  “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he told her, a serious tone to his voice.

 

“What’s that?” Pansy asked, her head lolling back on him, relaxing under the movement of his hands on her arms and shoulders.

 

“There’s something else I wanted to give you for Christmas,” Harry began.  “But I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it.”

 

“And why’s that?” she asked, twisting her head to try to meet his eyes, but giving up to return her head to his chest when the angle proved to be too uncomfortable.

 

“I know you and Hermione have plans to go look at buildings close to Diagon in a couple of days, for your treatment center,” Harry said.

 

“Yeah, so?” Pansy asked, grasping one of his fidgeting hands between hers.

 

“I have one already.  A building, I mean.  And I’d like to give it to you, if you want it.”

 

The water splashed over the edges of the tub as Pansy shifted around, surprise blooming on her face.  “You have a building.  A whole building.  And you just want to give it to me?” she asked.  

 

“Yes, if you want it.  If it suits,” Harry said.  “You know, Sleekeazy’s?”

 

Pansy nodded, the slight movement of her body triggering ripples across the bathwater.  “For which everyone attending the Yule Ball fourth year was thankful, taming the wild nest of Granger’s hair.”

 

“Right,” Harry said, with a quick shake of his head as if trying to clear the distraction away.  “That was my grandfather’s potion.  Fleamont Potter invented it, and I own his workshop.”

 

“Harry…” Pansy started.  “You have so little left of your family.  How could you just give it to me?” she asked.

 

He shrugged.  “I’m not using it, and I don’t need it for anything.  I’d rather it be full of people getting the help they need, like I did,” Harry said, reaching out for Pansy’s hand.  “I’ll take you tomorrow.  You can see if it suits.”

 

More water fell in waterfall out of the tub as Pansy launched herself at Harry.  “I can’t believe you,” she told him

* * *

That night, after all of the gifts from their friends and family were opened, after meals cooked together in the kitchen with two happy half-crups crowding around their feet, and after finding several locations throughout Grimmauld Place more scenic and comfortable than the hallway floor next to the basement door, they lay in their bed.  Their feet were pinned to the mattress by their familiars snoring in alternating rhythms.  With limbs entwined and eyes fluttering shut as sleep crept over them, Harry simply said, “Yes.”

  
“Yes,” Pansy agreed, and they fell together into sweet, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, happy whatever else you celebrate! The epilogue for this story will be up before New Year's. Thank you so, so, so much for reading and following along, and especially for sharing your comments with me. This project has been one of the very best parts about this holiday season for me and I'm so glad others have enjoyed it as well!


End file.
